


Returning

by Glass_CatOwl



Series: Returning & Other Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2017-2018 Hogwarts school year, Astoria's not dying because screw that, Bullying, Children can be awful, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Gryffindor Albus Severus Potter, HOW WRONG I WAS, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Mild Language, Most of the Weasley cousins are here, Not Cursed Child Compliant, Ravenclaw Rose Weasley, Ravenclaw Scorpius Malfoy, Ruining McGonagall's life, There's some blink-and-you'll-miss-it Molly2/OFC in later chapters, Updates Every Other Thursday, Wrote this before Cursed Child and I legitimately thought my Rose would be bitchier than canon Rose, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 104,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_CatOwl/pseuds/Glass_CatOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Far away and long ago,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Passed on those mighty four,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>But spirits shake and magic wakes,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The lion will walk once more.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>So sings the Sorting Hat before the first years of 2017 are sent to their houses for the first time. Against their expectations, Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy both find themselves in Ravenclaw, where the Sorting Hat's strange parting words are seen as just another riddle to solve. Their first year at Hogwarts begins in the normal way, with new friendships, old rivalries, and loads of Transfiguration homework, but soon they realise that someone at the school is practising Dark Magic — and whoever it is, they're planning something big. When Scorpius's best friend is attacked, he and Rose must put aside their differences and find her assailant, before the Sorting Hat's prediction comes to pass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Train

“ _Harry Potter!_ ”

“Did you see him, did you see him?”

“It’s Harry Potter!”

Scorpius Malfoy edged past the excited students, keeping his head down and his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Passing a group mostly made up of first years like himself, he felt the sudden urge to stop and tell them that _he_ had seen Harry Potter too, _and_ Ron and Hermione Weasley, just a few metres away from where his parents had waved him off, and wasn’t it amazing to be going to Hogwarts, and did they know that the Herbology teacher was Neville Longbottom, who had killed that giant snake during the Battle of Hogwarts? But he caught the look of suspicion one of the older boys was giving him and hurried on.

He kept his eyes on the floor as he walked through the train, only looking up to check the compartments for occupants. Finally he found what seemed to be an empty one and ducked inside. Standing on tiptoe to push his owl’s cage and his small bag into the luggage rack, he sighed in relief that he had the compartment to himself.

“Hi.”

He jumped half a foot in the air and spun around to find a girl seated on the bench opposite him. She was in the corner next to the door, which explained why he hadn’t seen her through the narrow compartment window. She had a thin face with squinty bright green eyes and brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled, showing an immense number of teeth quite disproportionate to her small size. Scorpius was reminded of a crocodile.

“Um, hello.” Suddenly tense, Scorpius stood awkwardly in front of the seat. Would she ask him to leave?

“I’m Lyra. Who are you?”

Hadn’t she guessed? He answered cautiously, a spark of hope igniting in his chest.

“My name’s Scorpius.”

There. Any child raised in a wizarding household would recognise a pureblood name like Scorpius. He secretly wished he had a less conspicuous middle name that he could use, but his mother had picked Hyperion, which was not only as bad, if not worse, than his first name, it was also blatantly immune to any form of shortening.

“Scorpius?” For a moment, Crocodile Girl seemed confused, and Scorpius thought of reaching for his bags and leaving. “Like Scorpion?”

He frowned at her, although he was secretly relieved. She was a Muggleborn, thank Merlin. He could stay in peace.

“It’s a constellation,” he told her. “All of my family are named after constellations, on my dad’s side, anyway.”

“Really?” _Great_ , Scorpius thought, _She hates my_ **_other_ ** _name. I can’t win._ “Me too.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“Well, not the family thing, but Lyra’s a constellation too. My mum chose it because of the lyre, though. You know, the instrument? She wanted me to be musical.”

“And are you?” Scorpius asked, falling gratefully onto the seat. Lyra smiled, and though the amount of teeth in it still amazed him, she seemed far less predatory than before.

“Nope. Are you… constellation-al?”

“I doubt it. I don’t think I’m made of lots of stars, anyway. And no,” he smiled back, “I’m not scorpion-al either.”

“I didn’t think–” Lyra stopped talking when the door slid open, revealing two students at least a year or two older than them, both wearing Muggle clothing and red and gold Gryffindor scarves. The boy was taller than his friend, with short black hair and a scowl on his face as he strode into the compartment. Scorpius didn’t look at him for more than a second before the girl in the doorway captured his attention. She was incredibly beautiful, with strawberry blonde hair down to her waist, dark blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. It took a moment for Scorpius to realise that her companion was speaking.

“…did you, Malfoy? I’m sure you’ll make loads of _friends_ in Slytherin.”

“James, there’s someone else here.” The blonde girl turned to Lyra. “Are you alright?”

“Um, I’m fine, thanks,” she replied, obviously confused. The newcomers both looked concerned for her wellbeing, though the boy – James – managed to do it while simultaneously glowering at Scorpius.

“Are you a Muggleborn?” he demanded suddenly, turning to Lyra.

“A what?”

“Are your parents magical?”

“No.”

James turned swiftly to face Scorpius again. “What are you doing?”

The younger boy tried to put on a brave face, but the intruders seemed suddenly furious. “I, uh–”

“We were talking. Are you looking for a compartment?”

Lyra’s confidence seemed to catch James off-guard, but then his eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I know why you’re talking to a Muggleborn – they’re the only ones who don’t know what you are,” the boy said in a disgusted tone. Turning to Lyra, he warned, “If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from this guy. He’s a Malfoy.”

He left before either could reply, sliding the compartment door shut behind him. The beautiful blonde girl cast Lyra a concerned look from behind the window, saying something inaudible to her friend before they headed further down the train.

“What a git,” Lyra remarked. Seeing Scorpius’ downcast expression, she asked, “What’s a Malfoy, anyway?”

“It’s my last name,” he muttered reluctantly, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Really? That’s harsh,” she joked, unaware of his discomfort. “ _I_ think I’d leave the school if someone called me a Jones.”

“Um. So, what house do you think you’ll be in?” Maybe if he changed the subject she wouldn’t notice how much James’s comment had shaken his confidence. “Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or,” he added hopefully, “maybe Slytherin?”

“Don’t know,” she answered, successfully distracted. “What house are you in?”

“I haven’t got one yet; all the first years get Sorted at the start of year feast when we get to the school.”

“You mean, _today?_ ” Her bright green eyes widened in alarm. “Do we have to prepare for it? I’m really bad at tests. Are we supposed to know magic?” Her face was going red as she spoke faster and faster. “I-tried-to-practise-at-home-but-I-didn’t-have-much-time-andmymumwouldn’tletmetryspellsinsidethehouseand–” Her air supply ran out and Scorpius cut in as she gasped for breath.

“No, I don’t think we have to know magic. Anyway, my parents went to Hogwarts and they won’t let me practise at home either. Actually,” he grinned and pulled down his bag, “we can try magic now! There-” he pulled a light brown wand with an elegant handle from between a pile of books and his spare jumper. He held it up so she could see the carved pattern that twisted up the side. His dark grey eyes stared for a moment at the wand, as if in disbelief. Then he smiled, and started digging for one of his spell books. “Apple and phoenix feather, I can’t remember how many inches, twelve and something…”

Truth be told, Scorpius wasn’t sure if he was ever told the length of his wand. The shop owner, an ancient man named Mr Ollivander, had distracted him by saying, with a hard look at his mother (his father had refused to accompany them), “Apple wood mixes poorly with Dark Magic, and the phoenix is not easily won. You’d do well to keep that in mind, young man.”

So even the local wandmaker was convinced he was a bad egg. _Brilliant._

Lyra, who it seemed was perpetually oblivious to the moods of others, didn’t notice his sudden frown, instead reaching into her coat pocket for her own wand. It was grey-white and longer than her forearm, with thin silver bands around the edges of the handle. She gave it an experimental swish, and blue sparks burst from the tip. “Are you sure we’re not tested?” she asked, but just holding the wand seemed to give her new confidence and her tone was more eager than nervous.

“I don’t think so. But I was looking up this one spell, it seemed simple enough…” He finally found the book he was looking for and flipped it open to the marked page. “The Colour-Change Charm, incantation _Colovaria_. This says we should start on small objects, because animals and people are much more advanced magic.”

“How about a pen?” Lyra suggested. “I mean, a quill.”

“Mum always told me never to point a wand at something I want to keep, and I like my quills. Do you have anything?”

A quick ruffle through their pockets revealed a handful of mixed Muggle and Wizarding coinage in Lyra’s, and nine Sickles and a Dungbomb in Scorpius’s. The discovery of the latter resulted in a sheepish explanation of wizarding pranks by Scorpius, and their first spell ended up being a clumsily executed Cleaning Charm as they attempted to remove the dirt from the Dungbomb from their hands.

Suddenly, a loud knock on the compartment door made them jump and Scorpius hastily stuffed the Dungbomb back into his pocket. The door slid open and revealed a tall blonde witch in her early twenties with a long ponytail going down her back. She was pushing a trolley covered in brightly coloured packages that Scorpius recognised as Honeydukes sweets. She noticed that they both had their wands out and sniffed disapprovingly. “Oh, not you first years too. There’s enough trouble with the fifth years when they learn how to blow things up and spend all summer dying to practise. It takes three weeks to repair everything!”

They both blushed and hurriedly stowed their wands away. “Sorry,” Scorpius said.

“Hmph,” was all she said in response. “Would you like anything from the trolley?” she asked briskly. Lyra looked bemusedly at the offerings. “They’re magical sweets. Completely harmless, though you’d do well to be ready when you open the Chocolate Frogs.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. She proceeded to “hmm” and “mm” and “uh” and “um” over the trolley, flitting between one end and the other as the witch, whose nametag labelled her as Daffodil Flume of Honeydukes Sweet Shop, watched her with a mixture of impatience and boredom. Scorpius selected a few of his favourite sweets – a pack of Jelly Slugs, some Pepper Imps, and several Chocolate Frogs – and handed over his Sickles, then waited as Lyra questioned him about the relative magicalness of this sweet or the other. She eventually settled on a packet of Fizzing Whizzbees, Sugar Quills, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, and, on Scorpius advice, two Chocolate Frogs. Scorpius saw Daffodil sigh with relief as she closed the compartment door.

“What do your parents do in the muggle world?” he asked as he pulled out a Jelly Slug.

“They run a bookstore. Dad was thrilled when I got my letter; he always loved magic. What about yours?”

Scorpius shuddered slightly as the Jelly Slug made its slimy descent down his throat. After swallowing a few times to get rid of the odd sensation, he replied, “Dad’s a potioneer, mostly Healing Potions for St Mungo’s. Mum works at the Ministry, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She’s always saying she’ll quit and go back to Magizoology, but she does like working there. Dad says– why are you staring at me?”

Lyra had frozen in the middle of raising a Fizzing Whizzbee to her mouth. After a moment, she found her tongue. “Are you speaking English?”

“Um… Yes?” He ran through the words in his head, looking for something that would have confused her. “Magizoology is the study of magical creatures, you know, like gnomes and knarls and things like that.”

“So what’s a potioneer? And a Sanemuncos?”

“A potioneer’s someone who makes potions professionally. St Mungo’s is the hospital in London, the wizarding one. My dad makes Healing Potions for them and teaches the junior Healers how to make the Wolfsbane Potion.” He eyed her dubiously. “Muggles do _have_ Healers, right?”

“Well, we have doctors, but it’s more or less the same thing.” Lyra returned her attention to the sweet she was holding. “Do these make you foam at the mouth or something?”

“Fizzing Whizzbees? No, but they make you float when you suck on them.”

“Seriously? You have sweets that make you _fly?_ What, do they mix them with fairy dust?”

“No, it’s more like hovering. They say it’s a spell, but everyone knows they use dried Billywig stings. You can use a broomstick to fly, but we’re not allowed them in first year.”

“You _actually fly on brooms?_ I thought that note in the letter was a joke; you know, warning all the people whose parents weren’t witches not to pack their mum’s old mop or something.”

“Well, they have to be enchan–”

A loud yowling from outside the compartment cut him off. Lyra pulled open the compartment door to find a girl with frizzy red hair sprawled on the floor of the corridor. She was tangled up in the black robes she was wearing and seemed to be wrestling a large orange cat.

“No, Charlie! Stop! OW!” The cat had taken a swipe at her face and blood was now spilling from the scratch on her nose. She pressed her hand to her face to stem the flow and the cat shot off down the corridor. “Charlie, come back!”

She scrambled up off the ground, tripped over her robes and fell, and then got up again. She shook a fist in the direction of the fleeing cat, which made Scorpius laugh in surprise. In a moment the girl spun around and, a look of recognition crossing her face, glared fiercely at him. “SHUT UP, MALFOY!” she yelled, and stormed off after her cat.

Scorpius and Lyra stared after her in shock. After a moment, Lyra turned to him and said, “What _is_ it with people and your last name? Do you even know her?”

Slowly, still staring down the corridor, he shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed this (short) first chapter of Scorpius and Rose's first year at Hogwarts. The fic is mostly canon and Word of Rowling compliant, except for McGonagall still being headmistress and a few minor details (for love or money, I could not figure out exactly how the house tables are meant to be arranged in the books). If you spot any problems or inconsistencies, though, please let me know! The next two chapters will go up in the next week, and after that I'm planning to update fortnightly.
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!
> 
> To post-July 2016 readers: This was written and posted before the release of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, so unless I'm secretly very good at Divination, it will not be compliant with that canon. Think of this as an AU of sorts.


	2. An Odd Sorting Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another part of the train, Rose has finally caught her cat. Also, the Sorting happens and triggers an avalanche of OCs.

****Rose stopped just inside the third carriage, nearly making her new friend run into her. “This is our compartment. Would you mind getting the door? It’s just that I have my hands full with Charlie.”

The large orange cat meowed irritably and struggled in her arms. She held him tightly as Elin slid open the door and walked inside. Charlie had escaped from his basket when the train started moving and Rose had spent most of the journey so far chasing him up the corridor and in and out of other compartments, finally catching him a few minutes after being laughed at by that awful Malfoy boy when the cat dove into Elin’s compartment. Ellie, as she told Rose to call her, had grabbed the furry menace and held him until Rose caught up. Noting that she was alone in the compartment, Rose had invited her to come sit with her and Albus.

Ellie didn’t have a cat, or an owl, or even a toad. In fact, all she had in the way of possessions was the large duffel bag that she was now stowing up in the luggage rack next to Albus’s barn owl. Rose pushed Charlie back into his basket and glowered at her cousin. “Thanks for _not_ helping,” she told him viciously.

Albus, who was sitting next to the window, blushed deep red. “Sorry, Rose. I was trying to calm Cœur down after Charlie scared her, and by then you were gone.”

His owl had been a present from their Aunt Fleur, who had named it Cœur, French for ‘heart’, after the barn owl’s heart-shaped face. Albus was closer to Aunt Fleur, Uncle Bill, and their children than Rose's family was, but it was James and Dominique who had been joined at the hip since they first met at a family get-together when they were five. Disgusted when Teddy passed up pranking in favour of talking to Victoire, James had reluctantly gone off to talk to Dominique (despite her being, as he had loudly protested at the time, “a _girl!_ ”). Two hours later, Teddy was covered in seaweed, Victoire had a bristly moustache, Albus’ hair was dyed pink, and a beautiful friendship was born. Likewise, Albus and Rose had bonded over trying to avoid being caught by their cousins’ pranks.

Rose _hmph_ ed at his excuse, still cross and thinking resentfully of Malfoy’s laughter. “This is Ellie,” she told Albus. “ _She_ helped me catch Charlie. Ellie, this is my cousin, Albus Potter.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Elin Haksar was an eleven-year-old girl a bit taller than Rose, with messy chin-length black hair and warm, dark brown eyes. She grinned at Albus as she sat down. “Nice owl.”

“Thanks,” he replied, and then noticed Rose take one of his Chocolate Frogs. “Hey!”

“Calm down, I’ll give you the card. I’m hungry after chasing Charlie all over the train.” Rose opened the packet with one hand and expertly caught the frog on its first jump. Biting its head off, she handed the packet with the card back to her cousin.

“Who did you get?” she asked.

Albus, who had gone slightly pale, replied nervously, “Godric Gryffindor.”

“It must be a sign!” Rose said. “Now I _know_ we’ll get into Gryffindor.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “What’s Gryffindor?”

“The best Hogwarts house, of course,” Rose replied proudly. “All the best witches and wizards are in it, our whole family was. It’s the house of bravery and daring. Back when Hogwarts was first founded, students were sorted into houses depending on who they would study under. Godric Gryffindor would only take the bravest students, Rowena Ravenclaw would take the brightest, Helga Hufflepuff taught anyone but preferred them to be hardworking and have a good moral compass, and Salazar Slytherin took all the evil ones.”

“Evil?” Ellie asked, frowning, at the same time as Albus said, “They weren’t all evil.”

“Well, most of them. Merlin wasn’t, of course, but he was mostly ambition. Slytherins are chosen for being either deceptive, ambitious, or both,” she told Ellie. “They’re not very nice, very cowardly.”

Albus interrupted before Ellie could reply. “Rose, Severus was a Slytherin, and he was good. Dad said he was the bravest man he ever knew!”

“Oh.” Rose felt put out for a moment, but then resumed enthusiastically. “Well, Gryffindor is still the best house. Nowadays, of course, we all learn from the same teachers, but you have classes with your house and sleep in the same dormitory and stuff. I’m sure you’ll be with us, Ellie. Stopping Charlie like you did was pretty brave.”

Charlie made an ominous growling noise inside his closed basket. Albus glanced at it warily. “He doesn’t seem very happy. Do you think he’ll be okay when we get to Hogwarts?”

“I think he just doesn’t like trains,” his cousin answered, but double-checked the latches on his basket just in case.

“He’s a pretty big cat,” Ellie commented.

“He’s half-Kneazle. We got him from an old friend of Albus’s dad, a breeder named Mrs Figg. Dad told me to let him sniff any suspicious rats.” Abruptly, her expression turned sour. “I wonder if Malfoy counts,” she commented just as the door slid open and James Sirius Potter walked in.

“What’s that about your future husband?” he quipped as Dominique, Bonnie, and Dorian followed him in.

Bonnie was a third year Hufflepuff girl, short and stocky with curly light brown hair tied into a bun, a fallow complexion scattered with red spots of acne, and solemn amber eyes. Dorian, a Ravenclaw, was the tallest of the group and rather handsome for his young age; his dark brown skin was unmarred by pimples, his black hair well-kept, and his friendly honest face made him very easy to open up to.

Naturally, James and Dominique had met them both in detention. After spending their first year declaring Gryffindors completely superior and pranking anyone who crossed their path, they had been sent to clean the dungeons during the first week back for their second year. There they had been surprised to see the sensible Hufflepuff girl they had Herbology with scrubbing one wall as a boy who was so studious that he actually _asked questions_ in Binns’ History of Magic class demanded why she hadn’t been less subtle in her vengeful sabotage of his potion. The two Gryffindors were delighted to discover another pair of troublemakers, though rather sceptical at their laying claim to several remarkable pranks pulled the previous year when this was only Bonnie’s second detention and Dorian’s fourth. But, as Dorian put it, “Just because you two feel the need to get caught every time, doesn’t mean the rest of us are so unsubtle.”

The only one missing from the group that piled into Rose and Albus’ compartment was the other Gryffindor, Felix. While he had been friends with James and Dominique since they were Sorted, he had carefully avoided being involved in their rule-breaking activities until they discovered the wonders of not having to wash floors every time one of them let off a Dungbomb in the corridor, and even then he was a reluctant rebel at best.

Rose blushed furiously. She had hoped that James was too distracted by finding Teddy and Victoire snogging to notice her father’s ridiculous joke. “You’re not funny, James,” she snapped at him. “And I was just trying to decide if that _prat_ Malfoy counts as a rat or something slimier.”

James stopped halfway through trying to push his fringe out of his eyes to give her a surprised look. While James and Albus shared their father’s messy black hair, the former most strongly resembled his mother. He had Aunt Ginny’s fierce brown eyes and freckles over his small nose, and Rose suspected he had inherited his wicked grin from her as well.

“My, my, Rosie, what happened to ‘We don’t _know_ he’ll be like Draco, let’s give him a chance’?” James, Albus and Rose had all heard, from a very young age, their parents’ school stories featuring ‘that slimy git, Draco Malfoy.’ When James had started speculating about how best to deal with the man’s son when he came to Hogwarts, Rose had taken on her mother’s reasonable tone and told him not to get ahead of himself. Of course, now she had confirmed that he was indeed just like his father, that stupid git, laughing at her after Charlie scratched her, _laughing_ _…_ Rose gritted her teeth and fought back tears.

Bonnie immediately noticed her expression and sat down next to her. Putting a comforting arm around the younger girl’s shoulders, she asked, “What did this boy say to you?”

Rose liked Bonnie – they had met recently when Bonnie and Felix were staying at the Potters’ for a week during the summer (Dorian had been travelling around Europe with his family, but Rose had met him on other occasions). Bonnie had stopped James from trying to sneak a Ton-Tongue-Toffee into Rose’s ice cream and talked to her about Potions classes at Hogwarts, a subject in which the Hufflepuff girl was best in her year.

Rose sniffled a little and sighed. “It’s nothing, really, I was just trying to get Charlie, he got out of his basket, and then I fell over and Charlie scratched my face–”

James interrupted her. “Oh, I suppose it’s blood on your nose then? I was going to say.”

She nodded. “Yes, well, Charlie scratched me and I was bleeding and Malfoy came out of his compartment and started laughing at me.”

Albus seemed alarmed by this; Ellie looked affronted and asked, “Really? _Why?_ ”

Rose shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… It’s stupid. I’m okay, really.”

“Well, he sounds like a stupid little prat,” Bonnie told her firmly. “And you can’t let him get to you. I’ve dealt with a few arrogant jerks in my time-” Here she gave Dorian and James significant looks; they grinned back at her, Dorian stifling a chuckle, “- and the best thing to do is ignore them. They thrive on attention, you know.”

Rose had not missed the glance at the boys and, now laughing, wiped away the few tears that had managed to sneak out. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to introduce you: guys, this is Ellie; Ellie, these are my cousins James and Dominique, and their friends Bonnie and Dorian.”

“Oh, we know Elin,” Dorian said, grinning. “We go way back – you know, to the start of this train ride. Quite a part of our lives, she is.”

“They abandoned me,” Ellie explained. “We were in a compartment together, but they left to go ‘marauding’.”

“There were prefects to be taunted, I’m afraid. Duty calls and all that.” Dominique gave Elin a friendly wink. Dom was a more even blend of her parents’ looks than James or Albus, sharp features and high cheekbones, with only a faint ghosting of freckles on her pale cheeks. Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur both had blue eyes, so it was difficult to say who she took after in that regard, and her blonde hair was more strawberry than platinum. But the gift of the gab she had certainly inherited from her mother, and sudden entrance into the conversation made Rose realise that she had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time.

There was something glinting in her hands and she smiled when she noticed Rose’s gaze fall upon it. “Oh, this?” She held it up for them all to see. “Head Boy badge. He won’t even know what hit him.” She grinned evilly at her friends’ surprise, and pulled a similar badge out of her pocket. “And now I have a matching set. Vic was too busy with Teddy to notice me take it.”

There was actual applause amongst the older students, with James giving a whoop and Bonnie leaning across to give her preferred form of congratulations, which, strangely, turned out to be a fistbump. Dom mock-bowed and flicked her long hair over her shoulder, smiling at their praise.

“Did you fugitives come in here for a reason, by the way?” Rose asked, ignoring their celebration of Dom’s start-of-school rule-breaking.

James sobered a little. “Yeah, avoiding Edgar Young, one of the sixth year prefects. He told us he’d ask one of the teachers to take twenty points from Gryffindor and ten from Hufflepuff if he found us out in the corridor again,” he complained. “Not like it’s a crime to wander around.”

“He won’t do it,” Dorian reassured them. “He knows we’ll lose points for me if he does and he’s bloody obsessed with the House Cup. Still, I could do without one of his pretentious speeches about how I’m ‘damaging the name of Ravenclaw House’.” A flash of real anger crossed his face and Rose wondered if that was really the worst thing this Edgar had said to him.

“Do you think he’s gone now?” Looking slightly miffed at having her spotlight stolen, Dominique slipped her Head Boy and Girl badges into her pocket and stood to go.

Dorian opened the door and had a quick look around. “Seems like it. Glad we had this time together,” he said to Albus, Rose, and Elin.

He and Bonnie got up and moved out. James and Dominique paused at the door. “We saw Malfoy earlier, sitting with some Muggleborn girl,” Dom said quietly. Rose looked up in surprise. “She didn’t have a clue who he was — who his _father_ is.” Draco Malfoy was more than just a school bully to Dom, Rose realised, thinking of Uncle Bill’s scars. “If either of you have any trouble with him, let us know.”

Rose and Albus nodded. Their cousins left the compartment, James stopping only to say, “Something slimier, I think, Rosie,” before following Dom out into the corridor.

“Hope you guys get into Gryffindor!” Dom called to them with slightly forced cheer. “It _is_ the best house, after all.”

They heard Dorian say, “You can take your Gryffindor pride and–” before Bonnie slid the door closed.

* * *

 Rose, Elin and Albus talked late into the evening, discussing everything they would do once they got to Hogwarts. Albus and Rose had to fill Ellie in on a few things, because though she wasn’t a Muggleborn, only her mother was a witch and she was somewhat withdrawn from the Wizarding world.

“We get the Daily Prophet sometimes,” she explained, “and when I was younger Mum went to Diagon Alley occasionally and brought me back Chocolate Frogs, but besides that I’ve never really seen much magic. Mum never seems to do any, except one time Dad got a broken leg from falling off our roof, and she brought a wand out from her special trunk and healed him. That’s where she keeps all her magic stuff, locked up in that old trunk.”

“What did she think when you got your letter?” asked Albus.

“She came around,” was all she would say, and the cousins got the impression that there had been a serious row involved.

“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time,” came an unidentifiable voice, seemingly from the ceiling. “Please leave all luggage on the train, as it will be taken up to the castle by the house elves.”

“Does that mean pets?” Albus asked, looking at his owl anxiously.

“Well we can’t go dragging Charlie and Cœur into the Sorting Ceremony,” Rose declared matter-of-factly. “So I suppose it does. Don’t worry though, Albus, the house elves are excellent at their jobs. It’s good to see that they’re acknowledging their existence finally. Mum says that house elves become dehumanised when people forget that they work here.”

“But they’re not human, are they?” said Albus, confused. “They’re elves.”

Rose was scandalised. “That’s not the point, Albus! Mum’s campaigned for house elf rights for years and you, her own nephew, come out with that antique edict!”

“The train’s stopping,” Elin reminded them. Rose immediately started smoothing down her robes and brushing off as much cat fur as she could. Albus apologised profusely to his owl for abandoning her, and deliberately moved her cage a little further away from Charlie’s basket. Ellie considered her duffle bag, took it down, removed her wand and a lumpy purse and stuffed them into her pocket, and then replaced the bag in the luggage rack.

Students were already moving along the corridor of the train, heading for the exits. The three children exchanged nervous glances.

“It’ll be fine,” Rose declared, but her voice sounded distant in her ears and she felt faintly ill as Ellie slid the compartment door open. They hurried out into the corridor, Rose casting one last worried look at Charlie’s basket and praying he didn’t escape and injure one of the house elves, and they were pushed along by the steadily growing crowd.

After a few minutes, the train stopped completely and they stumbled onto a lantern-lit platform. Rose had thought that there was a village nearby, but all she could see around them were tall dark trees, rustling softly in the gentle wind. She shivered and pulled her robes tighter around her.

Some of the older students – prefects, she realised – were calling out over the crowd, “First years, follow Professor Hagrid! Second years, you’ll be taking the carriages this time!”

Rose would’ve easily found Professor Hagrid even if she hadn’t met him many times before: he towered above the students, yelling, “Firs’ years! Yer followin’ me!” She and Albus pushed towards him through the crowd. Catching sight of them, he said, “Oh ‘ello Albus, Rosie! Who’s yer friend?”

Ellie, who looked completely terrified, nonetheless called out, “My name’s Elin Haksar, sir!”

“Well, any friend o’ Rose an’ Albus is a friend o’ mine. Nice meetin’ you, Elin. Firs’ years! Any more firs’ years?” Scorpius and his friend from the train stumbled up. Rose glowered at them. “Anyone else? Alrighty then, off we go.”

They quickly became very grateful for the lamp Hagrid carried, as he lead them away from the platform and down a steep, narrow pass with huge dark trees pressing in on either side that blocked out the bright moonlight. Hagrid talked amicably as they stumbled after him. "Those of yeh who have wizardin' parents will have been here before, but if yeh haven't we'll be seein' it jus' up ahead..."

Rose and Albus had both been to Hogwarts many times before for the memorial service held there every year, but they still gaped when the castle came into view. It was almost part of the sky itself, the distant light of its many windows twinkling like stars. Hagrid had stopped at the edge of the lake that lay between them and the school; he chuckled when he saw the looks of astonishment on their faces. "Beautiful, i'nit?" he said, his gruff voice warm with affection. "Alrighty then, no mor'n four to a boat, and don't make a ruckus gettin' in, we've had plenty fall overboard that way."

Rose, Albus, and Ellie quickly claimed one of the little fleet of boats for themselves. Ellie looked around in confusion. "There aren't any oars," she whispered.

"They're enchanted," Rose replied, just before Hagrid gave the signal and the boats started moving swiftly through the water towards the castle.

"This is our _school?_ " she heard an excited voice ask from one of the other boats. "It's _amazing!_ "

Ellie was beaming. "I can't believe I nearly didn't come here," she said, awed. Albus, on the other hand, was looking a little green. Rose knew what he was thinking of — the Sorting Hat. He caught her eye and leaned over, whispering, "Dad said that the Hat lets you choose, if you want it badly enough." He sounded more like he was reassuring himself than her, but his words dissolved any doubt left in her mind. Of course she would be in Gryffindor.

The boats glided smoothly towards the cliff face and showed no sign of stopping. A couple of people cried out as the first boats connected with the stone but they moved right through it — it was just an illusion. Nothing of the sort was mentioned in _Hogwarts, A History_ , so Rose guessed it must be a recent precaution. The first years found themselves in a dark cave that continued on for a minute until the boats reached a set of stone steps. They clambered out of the boats and followed Hagrid up until they came into the open air, standing right at the foot of the enormous castle.

The massive oak door swung open to reveal a tiny, ancient wizard beaming at the group. "Welcome to Hogwarts!" he declared in a squeaky voice. "My name is Professor Filius Flitwick, Deputy Headmaster. Come along, all of you!"

He led them to a pair of large ornate doors and turned to face them. "First of all, congratulations and welcome to your first year at Hogwarts! Once you enter the Great Hall, you will be Sorted into one of four houses..."

He continued on to name the houses and explain the points system, but Rose was only half-listening. Her blood was pounding in her ears and her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. _It’s happening, it’s finally happening!_ It took all her willpower not to go running through the doors right then and shove the Sorting Hat on her head. _Calm down_ , she told herself firmly, and tried to take interest in what Professor Flitwick was saying.

"I'm sure all of you will be excellent additions to your houses, and if at any time you need assistance, don't hesitate to ask a prefect or your head of house — myself for Ravenclaw, Professor Bones for Hufflepuff, Professor Longbottom for Gryffindor, and Professor Shafiq for Slytherin. All ready, then? In we go!"

With a wave of Flitwick's wand the doors swung open and they walked into the Great Hall. They all gaped at the star-covered ceiling and Rose opened her mouth to explain it to Elin, but Albus cut her off. "We know, you read about it in _A History of Hogwarts_.”

" _Hogwarts, A History_ ," Rose corrected, miffed. "And I was just going to explain to Ellie."

"Let me guess, enchanted?" the other girl asked wryly.

Rose nodded. "To look like the real sky. The spell was first developed in–"

She stopped as they came to an abrupt halt at the front of the hall. The teachers' table was in front of them, headed by a grey-haired witch Rose knew to be Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. She was even older than Flitwick – she could have been a hundred or more – but there was steel in her eyes.

In the silence, the first years suddenly became aware of the hundreds of students staring at them from the four long tables. They shrank closer together under the student body's collective gaze. Rose couldn't see any of her many cousins at the tables to either side of them, and was relieved to see a familiar face bringing out a stool and a decrepit-looking old hat – Professor Neville Longbottom gave them an encouraging smile before returning to his seat at the teachers' table.

They stared at the hat expectantly. Rose wondered what the teachers were waiting for — weren't the first years supposed to be trying it on so it could sort them? She had already anticipated the painful wait while the alphabetical list worked its way down to "Weasley", but this was worse. What was it going to do?

After a very long moment, the hat stirred. A rip near the brim stretched open like a yawning mouth and it began... to _sing?_

 

 _Once I was but a simple hat,_ _  
_ _Made to sit upon a head._ _  
_ _A great head, mind you, for I had taste,_  
_And look where it has led!_

 _Long ago, they gave me life,  
Wisdom and power, tis true,  
The four who took their scattered world _  
_And built this home for you._

 _Helga, who was good and kind,_ _  
_ _Rowena, stern and wise,_ _  
_ _Like brothers, Godric and Salazar_  
_Until trouble did arise._

 _Slytherin, for all his strength,_ _  
_ _His knowledge and his power,_ _  
_ _Could not bring himself to face his loss_  
_And left within the hour._

 _Ravenclaw too fell to pride,  
As she was torn apart,  
The witch of the most brilliant mind _  
_Died of a broken heart._

 _Hufflepuff gave all she could_ _  
_ _To those who were in need,_ _  
_ _She passed on quite aged and yet too soon,_  
_And very loved indeed._

 _How Gryffindor came to meet his end,  
I cannot pretend to know,  
He left me here to sort you all, _  
_And went where I cannot go._

 _Far away and long ago,_ _  
_ _Passed on those mighty four,_ _  
_ _But spirits shake and magic wakes,_  
_The lion will walk once more._

 

There was scattered applause, but many students were exchanging puzzled looks. Professor Flitwick glanced at Professor McGonagall; she nodded slightly. He turned back to the students and cleared his throat.

“Well, yes, the Sorting Hat will now sort you into your houses. Gryffindors are known for their bravery—” This sparked loud cheers from the table to the far left. Flitwick smiled and continued, “Slytherins are known for their ambition,” — More cheering, this time from the table on the far right of the hall — “Hufflepuff students are hardworking and–”

There was giggling when someone at the table second from the right yelled, “ _Good-looking!_ ” Several students clapped.

“— _loyal_ ,” Flitwick continued, followed by some applause from that table, “and Ravenclaws are known for their intelligence and creativity.”

Over the noise from the final house, Rose heard someone who sounded suspiciously like Dorian shout, “ _Go Flitwick!_ ” The tiny wizard actually blushed.

When the applause died down, Flitwick unfurled the scroll he was holding and read, “Ambrose, Theodore!”

A stocky boy marched out of the group of first years and sat down on the stool. His expression was confident, but his hands were shaking as Flitwick lowered the Sorting Hat over his head.

From a distance the hat looked completely still, but when she looked closer Rose could see its ‘mouth’ moving slightly as if it were talking under its breath, but no matter how hard she strained her ears she couldn’t catch even a whisper. Theodore Ambrose paled but quickly recomposed himself. The hat’s mouth moved again. The boy hesitated and then, almost imperceptibly, nodded.

“ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ” the hat roared, and the Gryffindor table burst into applause. Theodore pulled off the hat and handed it back to Flitwick before running down to join his house.

“Andrews, Davy!”

Another boy, this one taller and with overlong wavy brown hair, walked forwards. He looked openly terrified, yet the hat had barely been on his head for five seconds before it shouted, “ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ”

Rose had been dreading the long wait until her name was called, but all of her impatience vanished as she watched each first-year approach the Sorting Hat. It fascinated her which kinds of people were sorted into what house. ‘Arthurs, Isobel’ was utterly calm as she stepped forward and didn’t bat an eyelid as the hat silently murmured to her, but rather than joining Ambrose and Andrews in Gryffindor, she became the first Ravenclaw student. The first Slytherin was ‘Bones, Eleanor’, a round-faced girl with red pigtails. ‘Brown, Harry’, a studious-looking boy who had been quietly relating the history of the four founders to his neighbour, was called on and promptly sorted into Hufflepuff. The hat’s behaviour varied as well: for some, it was only a few seconds before it shouted out “ _HUFFLEPUFF!_ ” or “ _SLYTHERIN!_ ”; others sat there for minutes on end until it finally called out a house.

Rose had all but forgotten that _she_ was one of the sortees rather than some invisible observer when Flitwick called, “Haksar, Elin!” She was jolted back to reality as her friend pushed past her, trembling, and sat down on the stool. Flitwick, standing on tip-toe, dropped the hat over her head.

The hat’s ‘mouth’ began to move, as it had with every other first-year, but then Ellie did something none of the others had: she _blushed_. _What on earth would the Sorting Hat say to make you blush?_ Rose wondered, baffled. _‘Hey, you should be in Hufflepuff, house of the good-looking’?_ The thought made her giggle.

“ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ” the hat shouted. Ellie beamed and ran off to join the cheering Gryffindors, giving Albus and Rose a look of joy before taking her place at the table. “ _One down_ ,” Rose whispered in Albus’s ear just before ‘Harman, Patrick’ also joined the Gryffindor table.

“Hewin, Phillip!”

A moment’s pause, and then — _“SLYTHERIN!"_

“Isaacs, Artemis!”

“ _HUFFLEPUFF!_ ”

“Jones, Lyra!”

Malfoy’s friend, a tiny girl with curly brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, stumbled forward. Her eyes disappeared beneath the brim of the hat – only to re-emerge seconds later, wide with shock, after the hat bellowed, “ _RAVENCLAW!_ ” Looking stunned, she made her way to the table to their left and sat down next to ‘deLacey, Aimée’.

‘Kent, William’ and ‘Li, Annabelle’ became Hufflepuffs, while ‘Lewys, Meghan’ joined the Ravenclaw table. The hat took its time with ‘Lloyd, Orpheus’ before finally placing him in Slytherin. “Malfoy, Scorpius!”

There was no dramatic hush beyond the usual someone’s-about-to-be-sorted quiet as the pale blond boy made his way to the front of the hall, but this time Rose could hear a few people whispering to each other here and there. Few members of Tom Riddle’s inner circle had been allowed to escape justice after the Second Wizarding War, but for somewhat dubious reasons the Malfoys had all been pardoned. Many witches and wizards regarded them with suspicion and a certain degree of disgust, as they were considered the only Death Eaters to get off scot-free.

Scorpius Malfoy closed his eyes, seeming to brace himself as the Sorting Hat was lowered over his head. Rose ignored an involuntary pang of sympathy. _I’m sure he’ll fit right in with the other–_

“ _RAVENCLAW!_ ”

The clapping of a few inattentive Slytherins was quickly drowned out by the applause from the Ravenclaws as their newest member came to join them. Rose saw the brown-haired girl hug Malfoy before moving over so he could sit down between her and Meghan Lewys. Scorpius looked baffled, as did a few other faces in the crowd. The whispering became louder.

“… _parents_ _…_ _Death Eaters_ _…_ ”

“ _…_ _whole family_ _…_ ”

“ _…_ _jinxed the Sorting Hat?_ ”

Professor Flitwick coughed loudly to regain their attention. Rose tore her eyes away from the befuddled Malfoy and turned back to the Sorting Hat. “Michel, Lucille!”

“ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ”

“Mirkwood, Samuel!”

“ _HUFFLEPUFF!_ ”

“Monash, Cynthia!”

“ _SLYTHERIN!_ ”

Try as she might, Rose couldn’t quite guess which house each person would go to. Cynthia Monash looked uncomfortable in her robes and Rose had thought she was probably a Muggleborn, but the Slytherins welcomed her as easily as they had the others.

“Montague, Ernest!”

This boy looked almost stereotypically rich pureblood, all perfectly tailored robes and knowing looks, and yet… “ _GRYFFINDOR!”_

“Nichols, Rupert!”

 _Probably Hufflepuff,_ Rose guessed.

“ _RAVENCLAW!_ ”

Oh well, that had been her second pick for him.

“Nowak, Zofia!”

 _Slytherin or Ravenclaw,_ Rose decided, noting the girl’s shrewd expression.

“ _SLYTHERIN!”_

She was getting better at this.

“O’Sullivan, Calan!”

_Hufflepuff?_

“ _HUFFLEPUFF!_ ”

Rose’s brightening mood was dampened when she took a look at Albus. He was paler than ever. ‘Potter’ wouldn’t be far away now. Rose gave her cousin a reassuring smile and mouthed “ _It’ll be fine”_ at him as ‘Parkinson, Jasper’ was made a Slytherin.

“Pierce, Suzanna!”

“ _HUFFLEPUFF!_ ”

“Pierce, Thomas!”

“ _RAVENCLAW!_ ”

“Potter, Albus!”

 _That_ garnered a noticeable reaction from the students. Everyone seemed to know about the Boy Who Lived and his children – or maybe they were just worried that Albus was the same kind of troublemaker as James.

Amidst the frantic whispering, Albus made his way up to the stool and sat. Flitwick gave him a friendly smile and he made some effort to smile back, but didn’t quite manage it. Rose met his gaze. _You’ll be okay_ , she promised silently. Her cousin did not look like he believed her as his eyes disappeared under the brim of the Sorting Hat.

_He’ll be a Gryffindor, it’s fine._

_But what if he’s not? What if he’s in Slytherin?_

_There can be good Slytherins, like Severus. He’ll be one of those._

_Severus Snape_ died _though. I don’t want Albus to have to die to be a good person. He’s my best friend!_

“ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ” the hat shouted, and the far left table burst into applause. Rose let go of a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and joined the clapping as Albus was greeted by all of their cousins, from the dark-haired Fred to the bright blonde Victoire, along with the half-dozen redheaded Weasleys who seemed to have suddenly appeared at the table, although minutes earlier Rose hadn’t been able to see any of them. _Two down_ , she thought. _Just me to go_.

One by one, the remaining students were called upon and sent to their rightful houses, until there was no-one left waiting but her and a short dark-blonde girl. They exchanged looks, wondering which of them would be called on first.

After what seemed like a lifetime, ‘Vincent, Alexander’ was sorted into Gryffindor and Professor Flitwick called, “Weasley, Rose!” She was up the stairs and on the seat in moments. The Sorting Hat slid down over her eyes so she could no longer see the ocean of faces all staring at her. She waited for the hat to speak.

Silence.

Her insides froze. All her confidence evaporated. She had done something wrong – or worse, she _was_ something wrong. The hat was enchanted to sort young witches and wizards; what if she was a Squib? _But I’ve done magic before!_ she pleaded to the hat. _By accident! I turned Hugo’s quill into a bird once!_

A long moment passed. She felt like she was about to cry when a small scratchy voice spoke in her ear. “Difficult, _very_ difficult. Quite brave, I see, perhaps even too brave for your own good. But curious too, and clever, oh, so very clever. Not as smart as your mother was, not yet – but you could be, if given room to grow.”

 _I want to be in Gryffindor_ , she told the hat firmly, relieved that it was talking to her but cross that it had given her such a scare. _I’m a Weasley, aren’t I?_

“Oh yes, and Weasleys always go to Gryffindor, don’t they? I should say it would suit you well enough… But haven’t you ever wondered what it might be like to be _different_?”

 _I don’t–_ The sentence split off into a half-dozen trains of thought. She didn’t _just_ want to be in Gryffindor because her family were there, did she? No, of course not. And she already _was_ different from each of her many cousins without having to actively separate herself from them, thank you very much. The hat was acting like the wolf in that Muggle fairytale her mother used to tell her, where it sent that little girl off the path picking flowers while it raced off to eat her grandmother. Not that she thought the Sorting Hat wanted to eat her grandma, but it was trying to distract her from what she wanted. Being in Gryffindor _was_ what she wanted. It meant seeing the Gryffindor Common Room that she had heard so much about – of course, Albus would probably give her the password no matter what house she went to – and being with her extended family – who, love them though she did, tended to drive her slightly mad at close quarters – and having Professor Longbottom as her head of house – not that she had anything against Flitwick, who had always seemed very nice and was said to be an excellent teacher. And she did wonder, just a little bit, what it might be like to see a different Common Room, and a different dormitory, and maybe later try out for a Quidditch team that wasn’t primarily composed of her relatives. Did she really have to be in Gryffindor to be happy? Not that she wouldn’t be in Gryffindor, because… because…

 _Well, I’m not as smart as Mum, like you said_ , she thought, and felt an unexpected pang of disappointment at the solidness of that argument. Everyone always said she was just like her mother, and if she wasn’t as clever as she had been when she was sorted then why would she even be considered for any other house?

“As she was not quite so brave as you when I met her,” the hat said thoughtfully. “I did consider her for Ravenclaw of course, but she would have blended too well, never grown to be the woman she is today.” The hat sounded very satisfied. Rose wanted to protest that it had no right to take credit for her mother’s hard-earned accomplishments, but realised that it was more congratulating itself for doing its own job properly. Also, it was an enchanted hat and couldn’t exactly change oppressive Wizarding laws itself. She allowed it the slight concession that at the very least, if her mother hadn’t been in Gryffindor with her father and Uncle Harry, she herself probably wouldn’t have been born.

“You _are_ brave,” the hat conceded. “But you could be more than brave, you could be brilliant. There is far more to Ravenclaw than books – although they do have a lot of those.”

That last bit sold her. Not even aware what she was doing, Rose suddenly thought one word: _Okay._

“ _RAVENCLAW!_ ”

The hat was pulled off her head; Professor Flitwick suddenly came into view, looking delighted. “A Hatstall!” he said, beaming. “Miss Weasley, you are, I think, the first proper Hatstall in twenty years. Welcome to Ravenclaw!”

His enthusiasm seemed at odds with the immense silence from the rest of the hall, or perhaps the blood rushing in her ears had blocked out any other sound. She saw Albus and Ellie watching her in confusion as she made her way towards her house table. The only faces she recognised there were Dorian’s… and Malfoy’s.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Once again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I just have to make a disclaimer that the character's beliefs and opinions do not necessarily reflect mine. You might have noticed that Rose is, uh, a bit opinionated, and while she's a smart kid, she's not always right. Don't worry about the tons of names thrown around in the Sorting section — the ones who are important will get a proper introduction later.
> 
> And yes, Cœur is a terrible name for an owl, particularly one belonging to an eleven-year-old boy. On the other hand, you don't look a gift owl in the mouth, and I can't guarantee further pet names won't be even worse.
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!


	3. Ravenclaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius is a little baffled by his Sorting, and the Ravenclaw prefects are weird.

****Scorpius was slightly unsure about how he had ended up at the Ravenclaw table. In his mind, he was still sitting at the front of the hall with the Sorting Hat on his head.

He was thinking, _It’s fine, I’ll go to Slytherin._

And the hat was saying, _No._

He wasn’t quite sure if that was exactly what he had said, which made it all the more difficult for him to think about every possible approach he _could_ have taken that would have perhaps made the Sorting Hat more inclined to help him. He was certain he’d done something awfully rude to make it give him such a point-blank refusal. _I must have sounded resigned_ , he reasoned. _You can’t be resigned to being in Slytherin, it’s the house of ambition! I should have sounded more enthusiastic, or determined, or_ _…_

 _Or_ , said a small part of himself, _you might not be Slytherin material at all_. It made sense, but Scorpius had, perhaps foolishly, never thought that would matter. His whole family had been in Slytherin. Even his mother, who was one of the last people you would ever find spouting the pureblood-supremacy doctrine his grandfather was so fond of, had been sorted into Slytherin and had obviously thought he would do likewise. In fact, whenever he had thought about the Hogwarts houses in the weeks leading up to his first school year, he had been far more concerned by how he would survive amongst the children of his father’s schoolfriends, people like Jasper Parkinson and Liana Flint, rather than whether they would actually be his housemates.

He could see them over at the Slytherin table and suddenly wished he were there with them. It wasn’t that he liked either of them, but at least he knew what to expect (veiled threats from Jasper, general snobbishness and the occasional ‘oops, thought you were a Bludger’ bat to the face from Liana). He had no idea what the Ravenclaws would think of him. One or two were giving him curious looks, although most were watching the last first-year being sorted (‘Young, Camellia’, who went to Gryffindor) or contemplating Rose Weasley, who had sat for nearly six minutes before the hat declared her a Ravenclaw.

After Camellia had scurried off to join her house, the tall grey-haired witch in the centre of the teachers’ table stood up and the hall fell silent.

“Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts,” the stern-faced witch began. “As many of you already know, my name is Minerva McGonagall and I am your headmistress. I have several notices to give; however, to ensure that no-one is ‘too hungry to pay attention’, these will be given after the banquet. Thank you.”

She sat down, smiling slightly. Scorpius heard gasps and realised that what had been empty plates before were now piled high with food of every kind imaginable. Lyra was staring at it in amazement. “Is it safe?” she asked quietly. “There’s no magic residue or something we have to wait to wear off?”

He grinned, finally knocked out of his stupor by the delicious smell. His stomach growled loudly. “Let’s find out.”

They both filled their plates and dug in. The rest of the Ravenclaws were doing likewise, but in between mouthfuls they were in deep discussion over the meaning of the Sorting Hat’s song.

“Well, it was talking about death, obviously,” said a freckled fourth-year girl. “Perhaps it’s the anniversary of someone’s death?”

“The milliversary, you mean,” corrected her neighbour. “That could make sense, no-one knows the exact dates of any of the founders’ deaths–”

“But would 1017AD be too early?” asked another student, a tall boy with sandy blond hair. “Well-off wizards like them would’ve lived a fair while even back then, and Hogwarts always had Healers of some kind on staff.”

“What about the last bit? “The lion will walk once more”, that’s got to be Gryffindor. Someone might use his corpse to make an Inferius. Would it be more powerful if the body was of a stronger wizard, do you think?”

“Please don’t scare the first years, Annabelle,” said a voice behind Scorpius. An older girl with dark skin and waist-length black hair in two long plaits sat down in between the group of first years and the fourth-year called Annabelle. A blue and bronze ‘P’ badge was pinned on her robes. “I’m Katherine Tredwell, one of your house prefects. First of all, welcome to Ravenclaw.” She smiled at them, and though her tone was oddly professional, her warmth seemed genuine. “We are a house that values learning and intelligence, and so we do have many students who can be quite shy or prefer to keep to themselves. Some of you, on the other hand, may be very sociable and yet assume you have to figure everything out for yourself. While you should certainly all try to find answers independently, if there is a problem you can’t sort out by yourself, feel free to ask any of the Ravenclaw prefects for help. Unless,” she added, still smiling cheerfully, “it is my fellow sixth-year prefect, Edgar Young, who is a complete prick.”

“Katherine!” objected another older girl, who had appeared behind Isobel Arthurs and Steve Fry along with a boy of the same age.

“What?” the sixth-year prefect asked innocently. “I wouldn’t want them to be misinformed. Now, where was I? Oh yes, these two are the fifth year prefects, Imogen Leist–”

“Hi,” said the girl said. She was pale and rather pudgy, with dark blonde hair and oval glasses. She and her companion both wore the same ‘P’ badge as Katherine.

“– and Jay West.”

The skinny red-haired boy gave a jaunty wave and snagged a bit of boiled egg from a nearby salad. Staring at it, he proclaimed, “Ah, I see good things in store for you all this year!”

“Oh, cut it out,” said Imogen, rolling her eyes. Jay looked scandalised.

“Excuse me, but I am a student of ovomancy.”

“You’re obviously not a student of _cooking_ or you’d realise that egg has been _boiled_ and _sliced_.”

The fifth years seemed to consider themselves sufficiently introduced, because after a bit of small talk with the new students, they returned to their seats down the other end of the table, amicably arguing the whole way.

“As you can probably tell,” Katherine told the first years wearily, as soon as her fellow prefects were out of earshot, “they were scraping the bottom of the barrel a little for fifth-year prefects this time. They’re nice enough, but unless you’re asking about Transfiguration or how to tell the future through animal byproducts, you’ll have better luck consulting our seventh years, Kim Ji-hye and Craig McKinley.” She pointed to a pretty Korean girl and a lanky Scottish boy halfway down the table, who seemed to be deep in conversation with their year-mates.

“Could you point out the one we’re supposed to avoid?” asked Meghan Lewys nervously.

Katherine indicated a handsome black-haired boy an uncomfortably short distance away, laughing with some other students his age. “Look, he’s not evil or anything, but he’s not very helpful or particularly nice. It might be best if you just stay away from him.”

“Is the song some kind of test?” Isobel Arthurs asked curiously, after a moment of apprehensive silence. “Like a riddle you have to solve every year? My parents didn’t mention anything about it.”

Katherine frowned. “Not normally, no. Usually it just explains the traits of each house. But historically, the hat has given warnings and such when there are troubled times ahead, so you can see why everyone’s a little curious as to why it decided on this year’s song.”

“Could it be jinxed, d’you think?” asked Rupert Nichols, glancing meaningfully at Scorpius, who felt himself going red as the others turned to look at him. He had just opened his mouth to say that he hadn’t even _asked_ to be in Ravenclaw when he was interrupted by another first-year – Rose Weasley.

“No-one could have jinxed the Sorting Hat,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was enchanted by the founders themselves, and they were some of the greatest witches and wizards of all time. It has more protective spells on it than you can count. Even if jinxing it _was_ possible, you’d have to be seriously powerful, and someone like that probably has better things to do than make sure someone meant for Slytherin or Gryffindor got into a different house.” She stared Rupert down, daring him to argue.

“Exactly,” Katherine agreed quickly. “No one of you deserves to be here any less or more than the other. Remember, you’ll all be together for the next seven years, aside from holidays. At least give each other a chance before declaring your mortal enemy.”

She then changed the subject onto teachers and classes, which proved a popular topic among both the first years and the adjacent students. Soon the main course disappeared and was replaced with a variety of desserts. It was only then that Scorpius realised that Lyra hadn’t spoken since the start of the meal, which struck him as strange  – in the few hours since he had met her, he had quickly realised that she was a person whose greatest talking-related difficulty was shutting up. He turned to her and saw she was in the familiar process of contemplating her meal rather than eating it. He did that himself when he was particularly worried, although tonight he had been too hungry to resist, in spite of the anxiety over his Sorting.

He prodded her shoulder gently. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

She looked up hesitantly. “They’re very smart, aren’t they?” she whispered back, gesturing subtly at their housemates.

He shrugged. “I guess. I mean, Ravenclaw is the house of the learned and wise and all that. A lot of them are s’pposed to be quite… eccentric.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Eccentric I can probably manage. I’m just not… Well, I’ve never really been smart, in the traditional sense,” she admitted quietly. “And by “in the traditional sense” I mean in pretty much every sense.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good either,” replied Scorpius. “I mean, my mum thinks I’m pretty smart but she’s not exactly a fair judge. I don’t even know what a Hatstall _is_ , aside from someone who takes a _really_ long time to be sorted.”

Lyra looked relieved. “I’ll say. I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for, the Hatstall girl or the girl just after her. Imagine having to wait that long just to get to your turn. Wouldn’t you be scared they’d forget about you and just take the hat away?”

“Probably. I wonder…” he trailed off. He supposed he already knew why the hat had taken its time with Rose Weasley – from what he knew, the Weasleys were as consistently Gryffindors as his family were Slytherins. But the hat had barely given his Slytherin suggestion the time of day, so why–

He felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of icy water over him. To his right, Meghan Lewys gave a small scream as a pearly-white figure passed through them and moved into the center of the table. She should have looked silly, being waist-deep in a pile of meringues, but her face was so sad that it drained all humour from the image.

“This is the Grey Lady,” Katherine said softly. “Our house ghost.”

“House _ghost?_ ” Steve whispered, his eyes nearly falling out of his head.

“Some wizards and witches, when they die, they become ghosts,” Katherine explained, keeping her voice low. “Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you. Peeves, on the other hand… Well, I’ll tell you all about him later.”

The Grey Lady looked around at them all and gave them a gentle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She studied their faces for a moment — Scorpius felt himself shrinking away from her unreadable gaze — before rising smoothly up out of the table and floating along to the back of the hall. The first years watched her go, only to have their attention drawn back to the head table as Professor McGonagall stood up. The hall fell silent.

“Now that we have all had our fill, may I have your attention for the start-of-term notices. Firstly, new students should note that all pupils are absolutely forbidden from entering the forest in the grounds without the supervision of a professor. All unsupervised potion-making or spell experimentation is widely discouraged for the younger students, and you will be held responsible for any damage caused. Older students are reminded that any dangerous forms of ‘initiation’ they may have planned for new students are forbidden and will result in severe punishments, up to and including expulsion.”

Her gaze lingered on the Gryffindor table for a moment before sweeping across the other tables to rest menacingly on the Slytherins. First years exchanged worried glances. “Don’t worry,” whispered Katherine. “It’s not usually a problem. There was just an incident a few years back and Professor McGonagall’s never forgiven them.”

Professor McGonagall continued, “Students may have noticed that this year our start of term has fallen on a Friday. This means our first years have two days’ opportunity to meet their fellow students and familiarise themselves with the school before lessons begin on Monday. I will ask you all to please use this time responsibly and not begin the year by losing house points before classes have even begun. For those in second year and onwards, Quidditch trials will be held within the next few weeks. Those interested must contact either their house Quidditch captain or Mr Wood.

“Now, I think, it is time to say good night. First years, your house prefects will show you the way to your dormitories.”

There was a bustle of activity as the hundreds of students all tried to exit the Great Hall at once, but the Ravenclaw first years managed to stick close to Katherine as she lead them through the crowd to the inside entrance. At the foot of a marble staircase, the group was joined by the rest of the prefects, including Edgar Young. He and Katherine exchanged hostile glances before she led them all up the staircase.

At one point Scorpius turned to talk to Lyra only to find he had fallen behind her and was now walking next to Rose Weasley. He scrambled for something to say.

“Thanks for um, the thing with the Sorting Hat before,” he said awkwardly. “You know, about me not jinxing it.”

She gave him a disdainful look. “I still don’t like you, Malfoy, but you don’t need to be a Slytherin to be a smarmy git.”

She then marched ahead to join Isobel and Aimée, brushing past Lyra on the way. Lyra gave him a look of incredulity and slowed her pace to let him catch up. “Who is that and why does she hate you?” she demanded, obviously having heard the whole thing. He just shrugged, not wanting to get into a discussion of the philosophy of blood purity and the Second Wizarding War right at that moment, particularly because he didn’t even know her exact reason for disliking him. It was very likely it had to do with his family’s dark history, but it could be that she didn’t like blonds for all he knew.

The group climbed higher and higher, along corridors and up dozens of staircases until they came to the bottom of a huge spiral staircase. At the very top of that there was a door with a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. Katherine took it and knocked once.

“ _Is a Hippogriff a horse with the head and wings of an eagle or an eagle with the body of a horse?_ ” came a voice from the knocker.

“To enter the common room, you must answer the riddle asked by the knocker. Any ideas?” Katherine looked around the first years expectantly.

They were silent, all working furiously at the question in their minds. Edgar sighed loudly. “We’ll never get in at this rate,” he groaned. “It’s an eagle. The mind defines you, not the body.”

“Then wouldn’t it be a hippowhatsit?” Lyra asked. “I mean, it probably doesn’t have an eagle brain, it’s not an eagle. Sphinxes and things had heads like people but they were still sphinxes. Sphinxes liked riddles too; wait, is that thing just a sphinx that got turned into a door knocker?”

A few of them stared at her, Scorpius included. How did she know about sphinxes even though she had yet to crack the spine on her copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_?

Imogen Leist, on the other hand, seemed to find the whole thing rather funny. “It might be,” she told Lyra, chuckling. “I don’t know. Say, is that your roundabout way of saying ‘A creature is not the sum of its parts’?”

“Sensible answer,” said the voice from the knocker, and the door swung open.

Imogen grinned. “Might want to work on more succinct phrasing, kid, but good thinking.”

They all piled into the common room, which was a large, airy, round room which had arched windows and doors in between the tall bookshelves that were built into the walls. There were wooden tables and chairs, evidently for study, scattered across one half of the room, with light blue armchairs and low round coffee tables in the other half. The carpet was a deep blue and, following a gesture from one of the prefects for them to look upwards, they saw that the ceiling was domed and painted like the night sky. “It’s not enchanted like the Great Hall,” Katherine informed them, “but it’s still lovely, don’t you think?”

Opposite them was a marble statue of a beautiful but stern-looking woman wearing some kind of tiara. Katherine pointed to the doors on either side of it, into which several older students were entering. “Those lead to the fifth, sixth, and seventh year dormitories. We change dormitories every year, it helps keep a fresh perspective. Yours,” she said, turning around and indicating two similar doors either side of the entrance, distanced from it by two large bookshelves, “are there. Boys, please follow Jay; girls, please follow Imogen.”

Scorpius whispered goodbye to Lyra and followed the rest of the boys into the door on the right. Jay led them down a small staircase, past a door with _Second Years_ written on it, which was slightly ajar and sounded like its inhabitants had already arrived. Quickly they came to the door marked _First Years_ and went in.

Scorpius liked books as much as the next person, if not a good deal more, which was a very good thing as if he had _dis_ liked them then the Ravenclaw dormitories would surely have driven him insane. Two large bookcases, already partially filled, flanked the door; each of the four-poster beds had next to it a chest of drawers with a bookshelf built into the top; the centre of the room was occupied by a round wooden table with a chair for each of them, the centrepiece of which was a stack of huge thick books labelled things like _Notable Wizards, Witches, and Other Beings: A Reference Guide_ and _The Complete History of Wizarding Europe_ ; and on each bedside table, next to an ink bottle, quill, and a pair of funny-looking old glasses that Scorpius later discovered were enchanted to let you read in the dark, their schoolbooks had already been unpacked and neatly piled. There was a trunk in a nook (it could not be called a corner, as the dormitories were also round) next to one of the large bookcases that Jay informed them was entirely filled with spare parchment for their use. Said bookcases also contained copies of the second year textbooks, in case, as Jay put it, “you want to get ahead early.”

“Also, if you ask them nicely they’ll swing open and let you use the wardrobe space behind them, if you need it. By the way, the riddles can be rather tricky so I suggest you make absolutely sure you’ve got everything before going out tomorrow. Good night!”

Scorpius found the bed his things had been placed next to and collapsed onto the sky-blue coverings, exhausted. When he got back up to find his pyjamas, Rupert Nichols was glaring at him.

“You don’t belong here, Malfoy,” he said fiercely. “No one from a family like that should be anywhere but Slytherin.”

Two of the other boys were already asleep, but the remaining one, Andrevan Roald-Hiskers (who had quickly told everyone to call him Andy), just rolled his eyes without comment. Scorpius turned away, trying not to feel stung by Rupert’s words. “It’s just a dormitory, Nichols,” he replied, feigning casualness. “You don’t have to like me or anyone else.”

“I heard your father murdered one of his housemates. Is that what you’re planning, to kill us in our sleep?”

Scorpius pulled the bed’s hangings closed in response. _I hope he really believes that. I hope he lies awake terrified_ , he thought irritably.

But this was a hope in vain, because by the time the seventh year prefects came to check on them, each of the five boys was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The read-in-the-dark glasses were Rosa's idea, and something I would've loved to have had as a kid. Slytherin readers, don't worry — this isn't a "Slytherin is pure evil" fic or anything. There will be nice Slytherins and funny Slytherins and (hopefully) sympathetic Slytherins as the fic goes on, along with a similar variety from other houses.
> 
> From this chapter onwards, updates will be every other Thursday (AEST). Next time: Rose and Albus get invited to tea and I struggle with Hagrid's accent.
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!


	4. Always the Gryffindors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Longbottom needs less impulsive students, and Professor McGonagall needs a drink.

****A breath of cold air on her face woke Rose. Peering through the dark blue hangings on her four-poster, she saw that Isobel had opened the window in between their beds. She wasn’t entirely sure if she liked Isobel, who was a tall, fair girl with long black hair and bright blue eyes. On one hand, Isobel was obviously on par with her in terms of dedication to learning, having read all of their schoolbooks through twice before she even got on the train, which made it a good deal easier to strike up conversation with her about classes than, for instance, Meghan Lewys, a Muggleborn girl from Wales who had invested her reading time in a thick tome that explained the intricate workings of Wizarding Britain. But Rose wasn’t completely comfortable befriending her, particularly after watching her interrogate Lyra the night before about her knowledge of sphinxes (which was apparently drawn from Egyptian and Greek myths she had studied in school, and a lot of fiction books). Isobel was very competitive, and Rose wasn’t sure if a friendship with her would last through exam time.

She yawned and pushed Charlie off her stomach so she could get out of bed. The cat growled half-heartedly and then settled back down to sleep. Her other three dorm-mates, Meghan, Lyra, and Aimée, were all in various stages of getting up, the least progressed being Lyra, who seemed to be trying to slide out of bed limb by limb. Rose walked over to the open window, shivering a little from the cold wind, and peered out.

Past the towers and spires of Hogwarts, she could see the bright green of the school grounds and then the dark green of the Forbidden Forest stretching for miles. In the distance, mountains rose and fell like the waves of the sea captured in a Muggle photograph. For a moment she wished that Muggle cameras worked inside the school grounds – the bizarre stillness of their pictures would work to capture the silence of this moment.

She was pulled out of her contemplation by Isobel, who was standing in front of the door and clearing her throat loudly. Once she had all of the other girls’ attention, she began, “Now, we have two days before lessons begin, so I suggest you all look through your text books and familiarise yourselves with the layout of the library. I’m going to find out from the older students what our first topics will be, so we can all get ahead on studying. See you all down at breakfast!” She waved and left.

Lyra, who was finally up, said, “Yes, ma’am,” and gave a mock salute. “Does she have any actual authority over us or is it all in her big head?”

“The latter,” Rose replied, too stunned by Isobel’s bossiness to remember she had put Lyra ‘Accomplice of Malfoy’ Jones on her Do Not Befriend list. “Prefects are chosen in fifth year.”

“Oh good. That’s four years for us to ignore her until she gets real power.”

“It’s perfectly sound advice,” interjected Aimée. She had brown hair and eyes and a faint French accent. “She only wants to live up to our house name, as we all should.” With that, she shouldered her book bag and followed Isobel.

“Well, _she_ won’t necessarily be chosen as prefect,” Rose said testily as she found her clothes.

“You want to be a prefect?” Lyra asked incredulously from behind her four-poster, where she was getting changed. “Why?”

“Lots of reasons. My mum was a prefect when she was at Hogwarts, you know.”

“How is that a reason? My mum played lacrosse when she was at school and I don’t want to do that.”

Rose gauged the weather outside for a moment and decided to bring her jumper. To Lyra she replied, “And my dad, and four of my cousins and most of my uncles. Besides, it’s good to take on extra responsibility later in school years. It helps prepare you for the real world.”

“I think you’d make a good prefect,” Meghan said quietly. “They all seemed pretty nice. Not like _her_.” Isobel had chewed her out about not having read ahead the previous night, earning her the Welsh girl’s immediate ire.

“Thank you, Meghan,” Rose said primly, giving Lyra a dark look as she emerged from behind her bed, fully dressed. The other girl just flashed her a grin that seemed to have twice as many teeth as a normal mouth before darting out the door without so much as a “bye”.

Rose lingered in the dormitory for a while after Meghan had left, worrying over what to say to her various cousins. Albus would be alright with it, she knew, although perhaps a little disappointed that they weren’t in the same house; it was James who worried her, and Dominique, and Fred, and… Well, everyone, to be honest. Most of all she was at a loss of what to write to her parents. _Dear Mum and Dad, Please don’t disown me, but I somehow let the Sorting Hat talk me into not choosing Gryffindor._ Or, _Dear Beloved Parents, Have I mentioned recently that I love you very much and would like to continue being your daughter?_ Or, _Mum, please make sure Dad is sitting down and within reach of a Calming Draught._

Eventually she decided that nothing could be solved by lurking in her dormitory and headed down to breakfast. The Great Hall was abuzz with chatter, with students catching up on stories and gossip that they hadn’t had time to discuss at the feast the night before. It was also, Rose noted happily, a good deal less formal about seating arrangements. At the Ravenclaw table alone there were at least a dozen students from other houses: Katherine Tredwell was talking to a red-haired Gryffindor girl (who Rose stared at for a moment in confusion before concluding that no, she was not one of her second cousins); Imogen Leist was sitting between a large jovial-looking Hufflepuff boy and a blonde Slytherin girl with a devious air. Looking over at the Gryffindor table, Rose saw Albus and Elin gesturing wildly for her to join them.

“Rose!” Albus said excitedly as she walked up. “Guess what? Hagrid’s invited us for tea today!” He thrust a bit of parchment under her nose, which she took and read quickly.

“But Al, Rosie doesn’t have _time_ to go to tea at Hagrid’s!” James exclaimed mockingly. “She has to study! What if there’s a surprise test on Monday that she needs to memorise her entire Transfiguration book for?”

“What if there’s a book in the library she hasn’t read four times yet?” added Dominique, jokingly horrified.

“What if she needs to prove the existence of the wereturtle?”

“What if they make a show called “Who Wants To Be The Next Uric The Oddball” and she hasn’t got a bizarre obsession pre-prepared?”

“What if there’s a ridiculous stereotype you two have missed?” said Dorian, walking up behind them and knocking their heads together. “Toast, Rose?” he offered her as he sat.

She took a few slices and started filling her plate with the other various breakfast foods on offer. James pouted ridiculously. “But _Dorian_ , your house _is_ full of know-it-alls and nutcases!”

Rose rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him, but just as she was starting on her bacon Dominique shook her fork at her accusingly. “Of all people, Rosie, you were the last one I would’ve thought would fall off the wagon like that. Your dedication to Gryffindor was your one redeeming feature! Now you’re just another swot like Molly,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh shush, Dom,” Molly said from a little way down the table. It was her fourth year at Hogwarts and she had so far achieved nothing less than full marks in every class.

“No, that’s not right,” James corrected her, grinning. “At least Molly is in Gryffindor. D’you reckon Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione will disown her now or wait until the end of the year in case the Sorting Hat changes its mind?”

“Leave her alone,” Bonnie told them sharply, and then changed the subject to classes before they could protest. Rose gave her a small smile and turned to Albus and Elin.

“So, how is Gryffindor? What are the others like?”

“Alright,” Albus said in a too-casual voice that told Rose whatever introductions had happened had not been in his favour. “They asked a lot of questions about Dad. I don’t know about the girls, aside from Cammie – she apologised for the love-letters her older brother used to send Mum because she was his Quidditch idol. Really bad poetry, apparently.”

“Cammie’s okay,” Elin added. “Very into that Quidditch thing though. Brigid’s tough as old boots, and about as friendly. Genevieve,” she lowered her voice, “would “much razzer be at Beauxbatons”, which is a French magic school, I think, but her dad wanted “‘er and ‘er sister to go ‘ere”, so she will “just ‘ave to put up wiz eet”. Jenny’s the opposite: _everything_ is super-exciting for her. She nearly had a fit when she saw our dormitory had four-poster beds.” She gave an incredulous look. “I mean, they’re nice, but they’re just beds.”

“What’s Ravenclaw Tower like?” Albus asked.

“Beautiful,” Rose replied, surprising herself with how quickly the word sprung to mind. “It’s just…” _Like they’d thrown open the windows and invited the whole sky into their common room._ “There are a lot of books,” she said hastily, before she could blurt out something stupid. “Actually, Al, could I please borrow Cœur? I need to write to Mum and Dad.”

“Oh, uh yeah, sure. Maybe a bit later though, she just got back from home and Lily sent about fifty rolls of parchment full of questions, so–”

_BANG!_ A goblet went flying over their heads and they all turned to see the Gryffindor girl Katherine Tredwell had been talking to was now pointing her wand at the Ravenclaw prefect’s throat. In an instant Professor McGonagall was on her feet, Disarming the Gryffindor with a flick of her wand. “Miss Firgreen, what in Merlin’s name–” But the girl had already bolted for the doors. Katherine, Professor Longbottom, and a boy in a Hufflepuff jumper all ran after her.

“ _Bloody hell_ ,” Rose said softly. James laughed – he always thought it was hilarious when she swore, which was more often than her mother would like – but she could barely hear him. _What on earth was that about?_

* * *

Merva sat in front of the Headmistress’s desk, fiddling with the end of her ponytail. Somewhere in the back of her mind she hoped it made her look less like someone who would hold a wand to their best friend’s throat, because she certainly didn’t feel like that someone. She had no idea what she had thought she was going to do, but how did she explain that to Professor McGonagall? Snapping like that… It wasn’t healthy.

The abovementioned headmistress was pacing, with her head turned towards the window and away from Merva. If she didn’t know the woman so well, the Gryffindor sixth year would suspect her of drawing this out intentionally; as it was, she could almost see the gears swiftly turning in her mind, ravelling and unravelling everything she knew about this incident, searching for the right words, the best way to approach it – the fairest punishment.

Her head of house, meanwhile, was watching Merva with a mixture of concern and bewilderment. Professor Longbottom had always been one of her favourite teachers. Herbology was her second best class, after Potions. Her hair was too long, she thought suddenly. It always fell in her cauldron when she was working. _I should cut it off_ , she thought, and had the urge to do just that, to reach across the desk to where her wand was lying and snip off the long red ponytail with a quick Severing Charm. Her mother would have been horrified – she had insisted on Merva keeping her hair at near-Rapunzel length since she was seven years old. But she wasn’t likely to see her mother again any time soon, so she might as well get rid of it. Her gaze darted back towards Professor Longbottom. Perhaps not now. Going for her wand would come off very badly, and “I wanted to cut my hair” was hardly a convincing excuse.

“I would have you suspended from Quidditch,” McGonagall began finally, “but Professor Longbottom informs me that you resigned from your position of Chaser after the feast last night. Just before you informed the Potions Club that you would no longer be attending.”

“Are you going to expel me, Professor?” Merva asked, unable to stop herself. She didn’t want to spend half an hour discussing her extracurricular habits if it all ended with her wand being snapped.

McGonagall looked at her for what felt like forever before replying, “No. But threatening another student is _completely_ unacceptable behaviour, Miss Firgreen, and I hope you understand that if it weren’t for your current circumstances and the fact both Miss Tredwell and I have no belief that you actually intended to harm her, your punishment would be _extremely_ severe – as it shall be if I hear of anything of this kind from you again. As it stands, you will be attending detention every Saturday for the next month, helping Professor Longbottom in the greenhouses. However,” she said in a gentler tone, “I _am_ concerned by you giving up on your out-of-class activities, particularly as you used to be so enthusiastic about them.”

“I want to focus on schoolwork this year.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “It seems odd that you would deem your previous years’ work _un_ focused, Miss Firgreen. Or is it incorrect that you achieved all Outstandings on your OWLs?” The sixth year looked away, anxiously twisting a lock of her hair through her fingers. “Isolating yourself from those who might help you work through your grief is not a wise course of action–”

“How would you know?” Merva demanded suddenly. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and abruptly the mask of awkwardness was gone, and McGonagall could see with clarity how drawn her face was, the red swollen look of her eyes. “How would you know what it’s like?”

“Miss Firgreen, before you assume that I am entirely unfamiliar with the loss of a loved one, it would do you well to recall that I have lived through and fought in two wars,” Professor McGonagall said quietly. “I have first hand experience of how painful it is to shoulder grief alone. Even if you don’t feel up to partaking in clubs right now, don’t cut yourself off from those who care about you. Miss Tredwell has made it quite clear that she is completely unaffected by today’s incident, and went to great length to defend you before I was forced to inform her that I would not be resorting to expulsion. That kind of loyalty ought to be valued, not cast off.”

Merva nodded, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Yes, Professor.”

“In fact, I believe she is waiting outside for you. You may go now; report to the greenhouses at nine o’clock next Saturday morning for your detention.” Professor McGonagall picked up Merva’s wand from the desk and offered it to her. The girl took it and, with a quiet “Thank you, Professor”, hurried out. McGonagall saw Katherine greet her with a hug before the door swung closed once more.

She turned to Professor Longbottom, who had been quietly listening through the entire conversation. “Gryffindors were never this much trouble before I became headmistress,” she said with exasperation.

Neville laughed a little, though he still seemed distracted. “You’re getting a selective memory,” he teased her. “Even if you don’t count what Harry got up to, there were always Fred and George.”

“Yes, but whatever trouble they caused was entirely intentional,” she replied with a small smile, then sighed. “Sometimes I think of them and wonder what mischief they’re up to now, and then I remember that there isn’t a _them_ anymore, it’s just George. And we nearly lost him to the Dementors this summer.”

“At least–” Neville was interrupted by an owl flying in the window, hooting urgently. It was an Express Mail owl from the Hogsmeade Post Office, which was curious in itself as there was rarely any need for something from Hogsmeade to be sent to Hogwarts with any urgency. Minerva swiftly removed the letter from the owl’s leg and opened the envelope to find a message hastily written on Muggle-style notepaper. After absorbing the message for all of two seconds, she gave Neville a dark look.

“It is __always__ your Gryffindors, isn’t it, Longbottom?” she said dryly. “I need you to track down a student for me.” _  
_

* * *

As nice as it was to have tea with Hagrid again, his cooking certainly hadn’t improved, unless you counted the fact his rock cakes could now be used as bricks. But he, at least, didn’t seem too fussed about Rose not being sorted into Gryffindor.

“Yer not to feel bad about it, Rosie,” he told her as he fiddled with the battered old kettle. “Nothin’ wrong with Ravenclaw. Yer parents’ friend Luna was sorted there, an’ she’s a famous Magizoologist now. Get a new version of me textbook every year now, ’cause o’ her. An’ of course Flitwick’s a great wizard, lovely bloke, can’t hold his liquor though. There were a fair bunch in the Order too, an’ in the DA an’ all. What was that girl’s name, the one Harry fancied? Before he an’ yer mum got together, o’ course,” he added to Albus. “Can’t quite remember it, she went out with that lad who got killed in the tournament. Now, what was ’is name?” He poured tea into four cups and put them down on the table next to the rock cakes. “That’s right, Cedric, Cedric Diggory.”

“Who?” asked Ellie, looking up suddenly, having been relatively quiet up until that point.

It was Albus who answered. “When Dad was in forth year, he was in a tournament with Aunt Fleur and this boy called Cedric, only the cup they were competing for was a trap–”

“A Portkey,” added Rose.

“–a trap to get at Dad so the Death Eaters could use him to bring this Dark wizard, Tom Riddle, back to full strength, but they didn’t need Cedric so they killed him.”

“Why did they need your dad and not him?”

Both Rose and Albus went to answer Ellie’s question, but Hagrid interrupted them. “There’s no need t’ be talkin’ about that sort o’ thing right now, you two. Anyways, it’s a bit o’ a long story. You’ll probably hear most o’ it in History o’ Magic, though I can’t remember who’s teachin’ it this year. It was Neville last year – Professor Longbottom to you o’ course.”

Rose wondered if that meant Professor Binns wasn’t teaching anymore, and if it was even possible to convince a ghost to retire despite their unchanging nature, but the conversation quickly moved on to other things. Albus wanted to know if there were any teachers they should be wary of, while Ellie was interested in what subjects they were actually going to have. According to Hagrid, none of the professors were in any way bad people, although Professor Shafiq was quite strict and Professor Kirtle was very nervous and perhaps a few Doxys short of a nest.

By the time they had gone through all the subjects taught at Hogwarts and their respective professors, it was time for the three first years to head back to the castle. They said goodbye to Hagrid, who told them to keep out of mischief and assured Rose that her parents were not going to be disappointed in her for not continuing the family’s Gryffindorian line. Rose was composing the letter to her parents in her mind as they walked back, hardly listening to Albus and Ellie debating enthusiastically about classes, when Professor Longbottom intercepted them.

“Elin Haksar?” he asked Ellie. She nodded, startled. “Professor McGonagall needs to see you in her office right now. I’ll show you the way.”

Ellie’s face abruptly went the brightest, guiltiest shade of red Rose had ever seen. “What’s wrong?” Albus asked her, and when she didn’t answer he turned to the teacher. “Ellie’s not in trouble, is she, Ne– Professor Longbottom?”

“I don’t know, Albus,” said the Herbology professor, shrugging apologetically. “Professor McGonagall didn’t say.”

Rose, meanwhile, was still looking at Ellie, who in turn was looking faintly ill. “We’ll come with you,” Rose told her.

Albus nodded, and added, “It’ll be fine, Ellie. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong.”

“You won’t be allowed into the office,” Professor Longbottom said mildly, but otherwise didn’t object when all three of them started following him back towards the castle. “And trust me, eavesdropping doesn’t work in the headmistress’s office, no matter how many magic tricks you got from your uncle last Christmas.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, neither of the cousins needed Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products to figure out what Ellie had been called up for, as they were greeted outside Professor McGonagall’s office by a woman who was evidently their friend’s mother. As it turned out, when Ellie had said her family came around to her going to Hogwarts, she actually meant that her mother had forbidden her from doing any such thing, so she ran away in the middle of the night and caught an early morning train to London in order to board the Hogwarts Express.

“Do you have _any_ idea how worried we were? Vanished! In the middle of the night! I nearly Splinched myself trying to Apparate to Hogsmeade once we figured out where you’d gone,” Ms Chang (as Professor McGonagall introduced her) was saying to her daughter. She was around Rose’s parents’ age, dark-haired and neatly dressed, and Rose thought she might be Chinese, although she spoke with a distinctly Scottish accent. She was very beautiful, but with the kind of worn down fragility that some people, including their Uncle George, seemed to specialise in. Rose had asked her mother about it once, after seeing it wash temporarily over Uncle Harry on a peaceful Sunday evening while he was looking through her parents’ photo albums. They tended to be people who had gone to war and never fully come back, her mother had explained to her, “although you needn’t worry about Uncle Harry. He has Aunt Ginny to keep him grounded, and of course he always has your father and me.”

Rose sometimes wondered if, when they was sure their children could not see them, her own parents let such looks come over their own faces as they remembered the friends and family they had lost. She didn’t like to think so – to her mind her mother was always prepared and in control, and her father was always a vestige of bad puns and immature jokes that she and her mother would roll their eyes at (although they both secretly enjoyed them most of the time) – but at some point she had made the alarming discovery that parents were, like everyone else, only human.

“Ms Chang, I have sent an owl to your husband explaining that you and your daughter are safe,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m afraid that as a Muggle he will not be able to enter the school grounds, but there are other methods of communication I can have set up so that he may join us in discussing the future of Miss Haksar’s magical education.”

“We’re going straight home,” Ellie’s mother said adamantly. “Hogwarts isn’t safe.”

“But Mum!”

“People die here, Ellie! I’ve seen it!”

“And _I_ have seen people die because young witches and wizards went untrained,” McGonagall interrupted. “Whether here or at home, Miss Haksar must receive magical education. It is my responsibility as Headmistress to help both of you understand your options. Now, if you would join me in my office we can speak privately.” She glanced warningly at Rose and Albus as she said this, and then proceeded up the stair case to her office with the mother and daughter in tow.

“The gargoyles eat Extendable Ears,” Professor Longbottom informed them. “But you can wait here if you like.”

They watched him follow the group up the staircase. The door to the office closed silently behind him.

* * *

 

As much as Rose and Albus would have liked to greet their friend as soon as she and her mother reemerged, the meeting seemed to go on forever and soon they were being led down to the Great Hall for dinner by a tired-looking Professor Longbottom. “They’ll be in there for a while yet,” he informed them. “Come down to dinner, or your parents will get me in trouble for letting you skip meals. I’ll even tell her you badgered me to let you stay if we can skip that part.”

Dinner was not a feast like the night before, but it was more formal than breakfast and Rose reluctantly went to join her fellow first year Ravenclaws. Isobel proudly announced to the other first years that their first Charms classes would be theory-based, while Transfiguration would begin with a simple matchstick-to-needle spell (“So we’d all better brush up on that one! I’ve got the page number for our Transfiguration textbook here.”). Rose thought about tuning her out, as she felt she would much rather learn magic from her actual teachers — after all, they would know the best way to go about it. Still, it hardly hurt to study a little beforehand, and her correspondences with her various cousins gave her something to add to the conversation.

“First year Transfiguration is only targeted spells,” she pointed out when Aimée asked the group in general if they thought they would spend a long time on metals. “Specifically matchstick to needle, or needle to string, that sort of thing. We move on to transfiguring live creatures about midyear, but it’s still specific this-to-that spells.”

“But the textbook has general spells in it,” said Aimée, but Isobel shook her head.

“The textbook _always_ has different things in it from what we’ll actually be taught,” Isobel declared haughtily, although to the best of Rose’s knowledge the wizard-born girl had never attended a school in her life. “That’s what my mother told me, and my father. Our family have been in Ravenclaw for over six generations on both sides,” she added proudly.

Rose was hit by a sudden wave of anxiety about her parents’ reaction to her Sorting. She hadn’t been able to write to them that day, as Cœur had been resting, so she would have to do that tonight, probably along with Albus’s reply to his family. She would have to remember to ask him though, which with the dual worries of Ellie’s fate and her own impending entrance into practical magic was more easily said than done.

“Rose? Are you alright?”

She looked up to find Isobel and Aimée looking at her in a concerned way. She forced a less melancholy look onto her face. “I’m fine. Just thinking about Monday, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Isobel assured her, and Rose fancied she sounded a little more genuine than usual. “You’re a natural Ravenclaw. What’s your wand made of, walnut?”

Rose nodded. “Walnut and dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches.”

“See? My great-aunt studied wandlore for decades, and she swears walnut wands always choose the smartest witches and wizards. Mine’s walnut and unicorn hair — Ollivander’s, of course, there’s no one better.”

“Mine’s hazel and phoenix feather,” Aimée added in. “What did your great-aunt say about hazel?”

Isobel considered. “I think she said something about loyalty, though I don’t know if that’s the wand or the owner. It _can_ lead you to underground springs, though; I know because my uncle Lucian had a hazel wand and it would start putting out puffs of smoke at family picnics.”

They talked a little while longer about wands and wand woods as they ate, with Rose sharing a story of how a teacher had tried to pick up Dominique’s laurel wand once and had been thrown off by a spontaneous lightning strike. Rose felt more comfortable with them than she had ever felt with her rowdier cousins, although at the back of her mind she had a nagging feeling that she and Isobel would end up in a rivalry over grades – and _that_ came with its own slightly smaller nagging doubt that perhaps Rose simply wouldn’t be able to keep up.

As dinner drew to a close, however, all thoughts of class or marks were whisked from her mind when she turned to see that Ellie was sitting next to Albus at the Gryffindor table. She pushed through the crowds of students leaving the hall to meet them. As she approached, she saw that Ellie was beaming. Sure enough, as soon as they noticed Rose was there Ellie pulled her into a sudden hug and told her, “I get to stay, I get to stay!”

Rose hugged her back. “Brilliant! Though what possessed you to run away in the first place,” she added rather more seriously after they broke apart, “I really don’t know.”

Ellie sobered slightly. “I know, but Mum was so determined that I shouldn’t learn about magic but it was happening all the time. I- I accidentally blew up my teacher’s desk one day. No one was badly hurt that time but they all got splinters from it, and I only had one idea of how to make it stop before I hurt someone, and that was come here.” She shrugged sheepishly, but then brightened. “Anyway, Mum says that I can stay here as long as its safe, and if I have to come home she’ll teach me magic herself. I’d rather stay here but I’m happy that I’ll still be able to learn even if I do mess up.”

“You won’t mess up,” Albus assured her. “It’ll be great.”

Ellie grinned. “After getting through that meeting, learning magic will be a piece of cake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I love the idea of Neville and Professor McGonagall having this friendly, playful rapport as colleagues after he (and everyone else) was terrified of how strict she was as a teacher. And yes, while they don't really come into the story, Rose does have a dozen or so second cousins in addition to the Molly-Arthur grandkids, many of whom are at Hogwarts. In case it gets confusing, her first cousins currently at Hogwarts are Victoire, Fred II, Molly II, Dominique, James, and of course Albus.
> 
> Next time: Classes start, the Ravenclaws meet their new teachers, and some prefects have real trouble not swearing in front of eleven-year-olds.
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!


	5. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Term finally begins proper and Scorpius has to make a confession about his family history.

 

Scorpius, for his part, had spent the weekend hanging out with Lyra and practising magic. Having lived around magic all of his life, it was amazing to finally be able to perform the kinds of spells he had seen others do on an everyday basis, albeit without great success. After a few misfiring spells required them to scrub the burn marks off the walls of the boys’ dormitory where they were practising, they both reluctantly agreed that they weren’t quite ready for more spectacular magic. With this in mind, they started trying their first Transfiguration spell, but after an hour with no luck (or rather only bad luck — Lyra routinely set her matchsticks on fire), they gave in and busied themselves looking over their Charms textbook, marvelling over all the spells they were to learn in the coming year. If it was exciting for Scorpius, it was mind-blowing for his Muggle-born friend, for whom less than half a year ago Levitating Charms and Dancing Spells were within the impossibilities of fiction. Her dorm-mates took all the joy out of it, in her opinion.

“They act like it’s all just school,” she told him quietly at breakfast on the Monday that they had their first classes. They were both wearing blue and bronze Ravenclaw ties that had appeared in the dormitories the night before along with other house-coloured apparel — everything from socks and scarves to new blue lining neatly sewn along the insides of their robes. “Why do they care about exams more than being able to turn a hat into a rabbit, or fly on a broom?”

Scorpius shrugged, more focused on the timetable he and the other first years had received that day. Flying lessons on Thursday mornings starting next week, that was worrying — he wished they could start Care of Magical Creatures in their first year instead. Their first lesson was Potions, which made him very nervous. His parents had been more stunned than angered by his Sorting, but he still didn’t want to find out what would happen if he failed his father’s best subject.

He was so absorbed in the timetable that he failed to notice his Whiskered Screech owl, Ezyl, had landed next to him until he heard Lyra giggling and looked up to see that the bird had stolen a triangle of toast from his plate and was proudly biting it up. The owl wouldn’t let Scorpius near to remove the letter he carried until he had finished the whole thing, only then holding out his left leg for the boy to untie it.

It was signed from his parents, although judging by the handwriting it was actually just his mother, and also inside was a chocolate frog card of Newton Scamander he had been searching for. The letter said that a basket of chocolate frogs had been sent to the office by a grateful witch whose house had become infested with a swarm of mutated Doxys who had become immune to Doxycide — the problem had been cleaned up by several members of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. His mother had found the card in hers and remembered he had been looking for it. It also said (in evidence of his mother’s trademark perceptiveness) that while she was certain he would do well, he only had to do his best for her to be proud of him. He felt his cheeks heat up, and hastily stuffed the letter into the pocket of his newly-lined robes. He would have to hide his mother’s letters from his housemates, or he would never hear the end of it.

Lyra was being distracted by the preening Whiskered Screech owl, who was quietly edging towards her strawberry jam. She had her own owl, a female Tawny owl named Marple (after her favourite fictional detective, she informed him), who had been sent off that morning with a letter for Lyra’s mother. “Shoo,” Scorpius told his owl sternly before it could help itself to any of Lyra’s breakfast. “Go up to the Owlery, if you want more food you can hunt for it.”

Ezyl gave Scorpius the evil eye but nonetheless took off and flew out of the hall. “You’re so mean to him,” Lyra said, disappointed. Scorpius rolled his eyes.

“He needs to be kept in line or else he’ll steal all the food he can get his beak on,” he replied pointedly. “He eats like a goat, we think it’s because he’s magical. Dad spoils him; he thinks he’s such a poor little thing even though he was only rejected by the Daily Prophet as a delivery owl because he kept getting jam on the papers.”

“And your mum?”

“Oh, she knows he’s a pig,” Scorpius said, a little more fondly now that the owl was out of earshot. “She thought bringing him to Hogwarts would get him used to a little work, but he’ll probably just charm everyone in sight. He knows exactly how to droop his ear tufts so that he looks utterly pitiful.”

Lyra was a little unconvinced by this, until she remembered a cat her family had had when she was very young who had the pathetic look so down pat that it had managed to adopt two other families in the street in order to get triple the amount of dinner.

“Professor Kirtle’s first up, then,” she said, changing the subject before he could laugh at her for being so easily taken in by the owl. “Does your dad know them? I mean, seeing as they’re both potion people.”

Scorpius shook his head. “I don’t think so. There’s supposed to be a few of the teachers who never actually leave the school, not even during the summer holidays. Maybe Professor Kirtle’s one of them?”

* * *

When his parents had been at Hogwarts, Potions classes had taken place in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room, but Professor Kirtle’s classroom was on the fourth floor and, according to Ji-hye who was giving them directions, only accessible by revolving bookshelf. (Lyra approved.) After breakfast the two of them made their way up to the third floor and found themselves waiting for the staircase to move to the right landing. Another group of students came up behind them — Rose Weasley and two others wearing Gryffindor colours, one of whom was the spitting image of a young Harry Potter. Scorpius had about a dozen of the Chocolate frog card of the current head of the Auror office, all of which mentioned he had three children, and so he figured this must be one of his sons. The Potter boy and Scorpius locked eyes, and Scorpius was surprised to find the other boy seemed to recognise him too. For a moment they just stood there, staring each other down, but then the Gryffindor girl said something to the Potter boy and he looked away.

Scorpius turned back to the staircase, which was finally moving over to the right landing. “I guess we’re having Potions with the Gryffindors,” he said quietly to Lyra. He was suddenly very anxious about trying magic in front of other students. He had forgotten that he would be taking classes with the children of Wizarding legends like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and he was sure now that they would know far more about magic than he did.

“I suppose so,” she replied, puzzled by his tone. “It said so on the timetable. We’ve got two classes with Hufflepuff today and one with Slytherin, too.”

The revolving bookshelf was just along the corridor from the staircase. All five of them squeezed up next to the bookshelf, plus a couple of other Gryffindors who had caught up with them, and someone said the password (“Horned slugs.”). The bookshelf and the floor around it started to rotate and the first years found themselves in a large, airy room with low round tables made of a dark wood. A few of the tables were already occupied by students, including Rupert Nichols and all the Ravenclaw girls besides Lyra and Rose. Scorpius and Lyra sat down at a table near the back, while Rose and the two Gryffindor moved to the second row, the front row having already been taken up by the early arrivals. There was a teacher’s desk in front of the blackboard, but there was no one sitting there.

The bookshelf rotated again behind them, bringing most of the remaining students, who all sat down at the tables, peering around curiously. A few minutes later a young woman bustled out of a cupboard on the left side of the room with an armful of jars and dumped them unceremoniously on the desk. She looked startled to find them all seated — the last of the class having just stumbled in — but recovered quickly, stopping something that looked like a bezoar from rolling off the desk as she turned to greet them.

“Good morning and welcome to your first Potions lesson. I’m Professor Lesley Kirtle and I will be your Potions teacher for— well, actually for the whole time you’re at here, unless they find someone to join me, or I die.” She gave a forced chuckle, pushing a stray bit of mousey brown hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. “I’ve taken over as head of Potions, as Professor Slughorn had to retire at the end of last year. But never mind that,” she added quickly, seeing the baffled looks on their faces. She had bright ill-matching eyes, one blue and one green, which gave her a slightly manic look. “As I’ve been told starting with a practical lesson has a habit of making some students miss their first day of classes, we’ll be beginning with a theory lesson on the function of potion ingredients. I’ve brought out a few that we’ll be using in the coming year, so you will probably — hopefully — have them in your potion ingredients, but you can have a look, if you like?”

She handed one of the jars to someone in the front row of tables and instructed them to pass it on. “The jar being passed around now is Flobberworm mucus, one of the most basic of all potion ingredients. Can any of you tell me what it is used for? Yes?”

Half a dozen hands went up, but Isobel’s had shot up the fastest. “It’s a potion thickener, professor.”

“And what is the purpose of thickening a potion?” Scorpius’s stuck up his hand without much hope of being called on, but no one else had volunteered. He vaguely remembered that the purpose of thickeners wasn’t listed in their textbooks. “Yes, up the back?”

“Potion thickeners make sure that the other ingredients blend easily and don’t separate,” he said, remembering having asked his father that very question after being asked to feed the Flobberworms for the hundredth time. “They’re also good for consistency of effect, so one mouthful of the same potion has the same potency to the next one.”

“Very good,” Professor Kirtle said, a little surprised at this thorough answer. Turning to the rest of the class, she explained, “Many textbooks will refer to ingredients as thickeners or preservers or stabilisers, but few will tell you what those words actually mean. Thickeners don’t just change the texture of a potion, they vary the strength depending on how much you add, and help other ingredients blend so as to create a consistent mixture. Now, what kind of ingredient are snake fangs and how should they be prepared?”

Professor Kirtle seemed to prefer to see what they knew first before explaining, so Scorpius, Rose, Isobel, and some others spent most of the lesson with their hands in the air. It became clear that reading a textbook, however thoroughly, was no match for a curious child having grown up in the same house as a professional potioneer. Rupert Nichols knew which potions used horned slugs, but Scorpius knew how they were prepared (although to his cost, he also knew how bad they smelled). Isobel could say that porcupine quills should never be added over heat, and Rose could list dozens of poisons that could be cured by a bezoar, but neither of them knew how to collect the quills or why one would crush a bezoar to make an Antidote to Common Poisons when swallowing it whole would do. By the end of the lesson he had earned ten points for their house — all the others who answered questions had been given two each.

At the end of the lesson, he waited for Lyra while she rolled up her ink-splattered notes. “Next time,” she grumbled, flexing her wrist, “I’m bringing a biro.”

“A biro?”

“What most people use instead of quills, for good reasons. So, think you’ll be as good at History of Magic as you were here?” Scorpius groaned. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, I’ve just been warned about Professor Binns. You’ll see.”

* * *

The next lesson began with Professor Binns saying they would be learning about Wizarding Europe in the first century AD, and ended with Scorpius blinking awake to find that Binns was gone and the other students, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, were now filing out of the classroom. He nudged Lyra, who was using her mostly blank parchment for a pillow.

“Oh, it’s over, good. Y’know, that might have been interesting if he could’ve finish his sentences this decade. What’s up next?”

“Lunch first, then… Transfiguration, I think.”

It was, but to their dismay the Transfiguration classroom was not as easy to find as Potions or History of Magic. They ended up stuck on a landing in one of the towers with a handful of Slytherins who they had the class with. None of them were people Scorpius knew, to his relief. He had never really been friendly with any of his pureblood acquaintances, much to the distaste of his grandfather and the relief of his mother. Among the group was a red-haired girl called Eleanor Bones, who was trying determinedly to remember what her mother (who was professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts and head of Hufflepuff house) had told her about the trick in getting to this particular classroom.

“The staircase disappears as soon as a certain number of people have climbed it, and then it only comes back a few hours later. We were supposed to get onto a different landing, but if we did get stuck up here she said one of these tapestries had a secret passageway, but I can’t remember how it works!” Eleanor dumped her bookbag on the floor in frustration.

“It’ll be alright,” Orpheus Lloyd assured her. He was the tallest of their group, with longish black hair and dark eyes. “It’s our first day, he’ll understand that we got lost.”

“No, it’s not alright!” cried Millicent Tirnblüd, nearly in tears. “He’s our head of house and we’re going to miss his first class. He’s supposed to be really strict too, and now he’ll hate us all year!”

Millicent plonked down on the floor and started to cry. Scorpius, Eleanor, and Orpheus exchanged worried glances — How long would they be stuck up here for? — but Lyra sat down next to the crying girl and started talking to her reassuringly. “No, no, he won’t hate us for being late. One of the prefects was telling us about him, he’s strict because messing around in Transfiguration is dangerous, not because he’s mean. He knows his classroom is hard to get to, he won’t be angry.”

Millicent blubbered something about not wanting to get into trouble on her first day, her parents would be so angry, what kind of witch was she if she couldn’t even get to class on time. With assurance that Scorpius would not have guessed she had in her, Lyra quietly calmed the Slytherin girl down and was in the middle of helping her find her handkerchief when a high-pitched voice said, “Excuse Dobby.”

They all looked up, but there was no one there. A small, squeaky cough sounded and they turned to see that the one picture on the wall, which had previously been a pretty but unhelpful landscape painting, was now occupied by a small, pointy-eared figure wearing a knitted maroon jumper, several ill-matched pairs of socks, and an abundance of bobble hats precariously piled on its head. The creature, who Scorpius recognised as a house elf, was looking at them with large, determined eyes.

“Excuse Dobby,” the painted elf began again, in its squeaky voice. “Dobby couldn’t help noticing that you seemed to be lost.”

Eleanor recovered first. “Yes, we were wondering how to get to the Transfiguration classroom. I’m Eleanor Bones, by the way, these are Orpheus, Millie, Scorpius and Lyra,” she listed them off as she pointed out each of them. “We’re first years. Would you be able to tell us the way, sir?”

The house elf visibly puffed up upon being addressed as ‘sir’. “Certainly Dobby will tell you, Eleanor Bones, Dobby is most pleased to be helping young first years. The first years should simply tap the middle tapestry with their wand, and say, “Pumpkin Pie”, and the passageway will open. But be quick: Dobby was coming to warn the students that Peeves will be coming here soon!”

The middle tapestry was, fittingly, of a vegetable patch full of giant pumpkins. Eleanor pulled out her wand, tapped it once and said, in a voice far too serious for the phrase, “Pumpkin pie.”

For a moment, nothing happened, and then suddenly the tapestry seemed to zoom in on one of the largest pumpkins, which itself was transforming into a pumpkin-like carriage. The door to the carriage swung open and revealed a small passageway behind the tapestry.

Delighted, they thanked the portrait of the house elf gratefully and one by one climbed into the passageway. Scorpius was last, and as he thanked the elf he — the elf seemed to be a he, despite the high voice — looked at him curiously. Slightly unnerved and hearing Peeves cackling in the distance, he ducked into the passageway behind the others. The passageway sloped into a gentle spiral, but they hadn’t gone so much as a full circle before they were stumbling out into a classroom.

Scorpius had hoped they wouldn’t be the only ones who were late, but of course Isobel Arthurs and her friends had spent Sunday making sure they knew the way to their classes and the others had been with them. Some of the other Slytherins seemed relieved that their housemates had arrived safely, but Scorpius couldn’t help noticing Liana Flint glower at Eleanor as they walked in. It seemed that tensions were not restricted to the Ravenclaw house.

“Making some new friends, Malfoy?” Rupert sneered from where he was sitting next to Thom Pierce. The two boys were much alike, both brown haired, pale, and skinny, although Thom was taller and Rupert had upturned features where Thom’s face was pointed. Both Ravenclaw boys were from Wizarding families and thought having the son of an ex-Death Eater in their dormitory was rather beyond the pale. Of course, they weren’t well acquainted with what being a Death Eater really meant beyond “bad”, or they would probably have been more alarmed than insulted. It didn’t happen that often, but occasionally Scorpius would meet someone who found the idea of sharing a street with even the _child_ of a Death Eater terrifying. The reason for this was, ironically, the oft-muttered “bad blood” — if purity could travel through bloodlines, then so could malice.

“Good afternoon, class,” came a deep voice from the front of the room, and they all turned to look at the professor. Professor Shafiq was a tall middle-aged wizard with short, slightly greying black hair and brown skin. He had a certain sophisticated handsomeness in his aging features, and a wry warmth to his accent (an accent so much the Queen’s English that it could outposh Scorpius’s grandfather). Scorpius had some recollection of the Shafiqs being an old pureblood house, a neutral party between the so-called Muggle-lovers and the Wizarding supremacists. “I see the stragglers have arrived.” To Scorpius’s left, Millie Tirnblüd made a muffled squeaking noise like she wanted to cry. The professor continued in a more reassuring voice, “Unfortunately, the landing can be very easy to miss if you’re not familiar with it. I would move to a different classroom, only this one has particular properties I find very useful. Please, take your seats, and we will begin.”

Scorpius and Lyra moved to the two empty seats farthest from Rupert and Thom, behind Scorpius’s other two dorm-mates, Steve Fry and Andy Roald-Hiskers. They, at least, did not seem much perturbed by his presence. Steve, a short plump blond boy with overlarge glasses, was Muggleborn and so had no clue what the fuss was about; skinny black-haired Andy just seemed uninterested in dormitory drama, preferring to talk about Quidditch scores (he was a Tornadoes fan) and racing brooms. Scorpius hurriedly pulled out some parchment and his copy of _A Beginner’s Guide To Transfiguration (Ninety-Third Edition)_ as Professor Shafiq cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Welcome to your first year at Hogwarts. My name is Professor Shafiq, head of Transfiguration. Transfiguration is one of the most difficult and indeed dangerous forms of magic taught at this school, if not _the_ most. As such, I will not tolerate _any_ forms of misbehaviour during this class, as such actions can endanger yourselves and those around you. Attempting to transfigure other students or any animals not provided for the particular spell is strictly forbidden. Do you understand?” There was a general murmur of assent around the classroom. “Good. Before we begin our practical lesson for today, we will start with some elementary rules of Transfiguration. The first rule refers to the limits of conjuration, or making something out of nothing. It states that conjured objects cannot come permanently into being, and will vanish after a certain amount of time has passed. This is most relevant to the conjuration of food, as nourishment cannot be gained from conjured foodstuffs due to the nutritional elements disappearing before they can be used by the body. Similarly, food cannot be kept unspoiled in Vanishment, and is often damaged by the process. Food may be multiplied, transformed into another object, or affected magically in many other ways, but _cannot_ be conjured. Conjured objects also do not last, though some substances may be sustained longer than others, depending on the power and skill of the witch or wizard. The second rule refers to the nature of transformation and the magical distinctions between living, past-living, and inanimate objects. A living being may be permanently transformed…”

Professor Shafiq kept up this steady pace as his students scrambled to keep up. Scorpius’s messy notes looked like Lyra’s parchment from Potions that morning; Lyra herself had given up on noting all the various peculiarities of each rule and resorted to dot points (‘ _Rule 1 – Conjured things don’t last, so you can’t make food. Rule 2 – You can turn a person into an animal forever (plants?) and an object into another object forever, but objects turned into animals will turn back to objects and vice versa. Dead people can only be turned into other parts of themselves (bone, nail, hair – ew) but dead animals can be manipulated more versatilely (WHO FOUND THIS OUT?). Rule 3 – Humans are weird and can tell they’re objects when they’re objects (but where’s your brain kept?) but think they’re animals when they get turned into animals unless they’re a mimay guy (a what?)._ ’) Scorpius knew enough from listening to his parents’ conversations that Gamp’s Law and its five Principal Exceptions were nowadays considered a rather undetailed way of explaining the limits of Transfiguration, but as he struggled to keep up with the steady stream of information flowing from the professor’s mouth, he couldn’t help but feel he’d prefer only having to remember five things rather than fifty-five. Professor Shafiq explained each rule with far more depth and detail than the textbook had, adding a sense of desperate urgency to the furious scratching of quill on parchment that echoed through the room.

After a solid twenty minute block on the rules of Transfiguration, Professor Shafiq gave them all a few minutes to finish writing, then explained the process of the spell they were going to try that day while handing out matches to each of them. Matchstick-to-needle was considered the most basic of Transfiguration spells because it involved only a very slight change in the shape of the object, so as to leave room to focus on the change in substance from wood to metal. They practised pronouncing the incantation and wand movement, then Professor Shafiq gave them the rest of the lesson to try the spell as he walked around the room observing their technique. Naturally, given it was a class full of eleven and twelve year old students who hadn’t so much as flicked a wand until the past few months, he barely went two paces at a time before stopping to correct someone.

The room was quickly filled with the sound of the incantation being spoken, yelled, whispered, mumbled, and growled as each of them tried their hardest to provoke some change in their matchstick. While many went flying and others splintered, Scorpius couldn’t get his to react at all. Hearing the professor behind him telling Philip Hewin to stop shouting and just be firm, Scorpius tried to give his most confident, I’m-in-charge-here incantation, but still the matchstick sat there like he hadn’t said a word.

“You’re being too cautious in your wand movement,” Professor Shafiq told him, not unkindly. “See the arc in the air where you want it to go and follow it. Don’t try to back up when you think you’ve gone wrong, it requires a swift unhesitating movement. And you,” he added, turning to the next desk where Lyra was sighing over the charred remains of her matchstick. “Show me the movement again.”

Lyra demonstrated, making a fairly stable swoop down to the midpoint, but fumbling the jab. Across the room, a stick of chalk went flying. The professor frowned.

“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out for her wand. She handed it over nervously. “I see, aspen. An odd choice for a first wand, a bit temperamental – but then I suppose _it_ chose _you_. That aside, you need to hold it lower down the handle, the bottom is getting caught under your wrist when you draw back to jab.” He gave her back the wand, repositioning her hand so that she held it right at the bottom of the handle. She gave it an experimental swish, looking anxious.

“It feels too long,” she said unhappily. “I keep thinking I’m going to break it.”

“You won’t,” the professor told her. “Wands are fairly hardy when it comes to normal impacts — most get broken in duels. Other than that, try to start a little lower when you begin the swoop, and speak more clearly. Alright?”

The class was over before either of them had made much progress, with the only partial success stories being Aimée and Thom, who both had silver-coloured matchsticks, and Millie, whose matchstick was still wooden but had gone sharp at the red tip. All three were given a house point each. The class was assigned homework to practise the spell for tomorrow, when they would have their next lesson. As they made their way out onto the landing, Scorpius uncrumpled his timetable.

Their last class of the day was Defence Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

They had the class with Hufflepuff, but Professor Bones didn’t seem the type to give out favours, even to her own house. She was a shrewd-looking woman in her late thirties, with premature grey streaks in her red hair, which she had pulled back into a tight bun. Her face was drawn and her eyes looked old and tired. Her lips curved slightly upwards as they wandered into the room, but somehow it didn’t seem like a smile.

The welcoming round tower room was a counterpoint to the teacher. It was well lit, with large windows and lamps hanging from the ceiling, and was furnished with big four-person desks that were rounded to match the curve of the room. It smelt faintly of pine, probably from outside, and it was filled with fresh cold air from three open windows. Behind the teacher’s desk of warm red-brown wood, there were five words written neatly on the blackboard: “ _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ ”.

Scorpius and Lyra took a desk with two Hufflepuff students they didn’t know the names of. Before they could introduce themselves, however, Professor Bones had moved from where she was standing at the side of her desk to stand in front of the blackboard, calling the class’s attention.

“Good afternoon, first years,” she said, in what was evidently an effort at a cheerful voice. “Welcome to your first lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts. As we will not be fighting any Basilisks today, I suggest putting your wands to the side and taking out _A Guide To Self-Protection_ , and turning to Chapter One.”

There was a rustle of pages as they hurried to do so. The first section was titled _What is Dark Magic?_ , underneath which was an illustration of a disgruntled-looking wizard casting a spell on a rooster. The rooster erupted into boils and gave a silent screech before attacking the wizard. The caption read: _Fig. 1. The Pimple Jinx. Even minor forms of Dark magic can cause severe harm if misused._ The prone figure of the wizard, pecked half to death, seemed to agree.

“Knowing is half the battle, so we will begin with a definition of the Dark Arts,” Professor Bones continued. “The “Dark” of the Dark Arts is very different from that of a dark room, or a dark colour. Every culture has its own name for what we call “Dark” magic, usually something associated with death. ‘Evil’ _is_ an oft used synonym,” she added, glancing around the room, “but what the Dark Arts truly feed off is rather the _components_ of evil — things like cruelty, greed, or cowardice, which appear in many if not all beings. This is why all students are taught to defend themselves against such things, as you do not need to run into a fully-fledged Dark wizard to encounter the magic they might use. Yes?”

Thom had raised his hand. “We are going to talk about Dark wizards and witches, though, aren’t we?” he asked eagerly. “Like Ekrizdis and Circe? Is it true that Circe used to turn Muggles into pigs and eat them? Does that make Transfiguration Dark magic?”

Professor Bones looked distinctly unimpressed with his enthusiasm. “As you are doubtlessly aware, the main issues in that case would be kidnapping, murder and cannibalism. And no, both Ekrizdis and Circe fall under Professor Binns’s juridiction. As you will have observed in your timetables, on Fridays I will be taking your History of Magic classes for a look at magical history in the last two centuries, as persuading Professor Binns to teach anything after his time is a nigh impossible task. We will cover more recent Dark Wizards and Witches then. Now, if I could draw your attention to the section titled _Identifying Forms of Dark Magic_ …”

Scorpius mechanically turned his eyes to the relevant text, but his mind was racing with panic. No doubt the modern History of Magic would get very involved in the Death Eaters and their horrible deeds, and his family’s dark past would be dragged out for everyone to see — including Lyra. Would she want anything to do with him after she found out that his father and grandfather were both Death Eaters? And that his great-aunt was the lieutenant of one of history’s most feared Dark Wizards? He couldn’t blame her if she wasn’t; after all, _he_ didn’t even like hearing about his family history, and they’d only known each other a few days. Come this time next term, he might just be that weird blond Death Eater kid who sat next to her during the first week. His heart sank at the thought. He hadn’t had many real friends growing up — the children of his father’s friends had turned out big, loud and sporty to Scorpius’s small and bookish, and his mother’s friends were all dedicated bachelorettes. Losing his first Hogwarts friend because of a history lesson seemed bitterly unfair.

He tried to focus on the words in front of him, but Bones had paused in her reading of the book to ask the class a question about the difference between a dark creature and a dangerous one. Several hands were raised, including Rose Weasley’s, which Scorpius noticed as she was sitting at the table in front of theirs. Professor Bones cast an eye over her candidates before indicating Rose with an added, “And your name, please.”

“Rose Weasley, Professor,” the girl replied eagerly. “The difference between a dark creature and just a dangerous creature, like a hippogriff or a dragon,” Here Scorpius bristled a little — hippogriffs were only dangerous if you were stupid enough to be rude to them or come close without their permission, nothing like the predatory dragons, “is that it is in the nature of a dark creature to harm, usually through some form of magical means, whereas dangerous creatures simply have animal instincts similar to non-magical predators which cause them to behave violently in certain conditions, such as when they are threatened or hunting. Dragons or hippogriffs rarely seek out humans to attack them, while, for example, Kappas feed exclusively on human blood and Lethifolds seek out unsuspecting wizards in the night and eat them. Even the few species of dragons that favour humans as food don’t do so exclusively…” Then she trailed off, and from behind Scorpius could see her ears had gone as red as her hair.

But Professor Bones simply nodded and said, “A thorough answer. Thank you, Miss Weasley,” and continued on with the class.

Wizards weren’t dark creatures, Scorpius reminded himself, and however far dark magic went back in his family, it wasn’t in his nature to harm people. He just had to explain it to Lyra the way his parents had to him — that Dad had made some bad choices and Grandma and Grandpa had made some equally bad choices and Grandma’s sister Bellatrix was just completely mad and let’s not talk about her.

This he clung to in fragile hope while the class proceeded. Professor Bones had an odd hourglass on her desk with segmented colours of sand and as the blue sand neared its end it started to glow slightly. Noticing this, she wrapped up her lesson on how to recognise dark magic and told the class she would see them again on Wednesday, where they would be getting into simple defensive spells for the double period.

With some relief, Scorpius gathered up his things into his bag and followed Lyra down the tower staircase. “Should we go back to the common room before dinner?” he asked, anxious to get a moment to tell her without all the other students milling around them. Even when it was full, the Ravenclaw common room was usually fairly quiet, and whispers didn’t seem to carry there either.

She shrugged. “I guess so. We probably don’t want to drag our bags into the Great Hall, anyway.”

“I guess so,” he echoed, and then, trying to be more talkative, added, “So, what do you think of Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

“It was good, but it’ll be better when we get to actual magic. I hope it’s easier than Transfiguration though,” she added, a tad disappointed. “I have no idea how I’m _ever_ going to get my matchstick to turn into anything.”

“Me neither. My mum’s brilliant at it; I never realised how hard it would be until now.” Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have picked up his mother’s Transfiguration skill along with his father’s potioneering expertise. “Charms is supposed to be, well, not _easier_ , but more flexible. It’s easier to get started with Charms.”

Lyra brightened considerably. “Oh good, when’s that?”

“Second period tomorrow, after History of Magic.”

“I guess we’ll get a sleep-in,” Lyra joked, yawning seemingly just from memory of the lesson. Scorpius pulled out his timetable.

“We do actually have one of those — on Wednesday, because we have Astronomy at midnight the night before. I don’t know how that works with breakfast though.”

They quickly reached the entrance to the common room, and followed a pair of sixth year students who had just answered the riddle inside. They both dumped their bags in their respective dormitories and met back in the common room, procuring a pair of armchairs near one of the arched windows. Hesitantly, Scorpius began to speak.

“Um,” he started eloquently, “You know how Professor Bones was saying we’d be learning modern history? Modern wizarding history, I mean.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

 _Begin at the beginning_ , he told himself firmly. Out loud, he said, “Well, we’ll probably — definitely — be talking about this Dark wizard, Tom Riddle. He started two wars trying to take over, there’s all this stuff— Don’t worry, we’ll learn it in class,” he assured her, seeing her expression of panic. “But the reason he… did that, or at least the reason he told people to get them on side, was that he believed in blood purity, which means he thought that Muggleborns were bad, o-or impure.”

There was a pause, and then Lyra, with a distinct furrow in her brow, replied bluntly, “He sounds like Hitler.”

There were a few events that could not escape even the deliberately detached Wizarding community’s notice, and the World Wars had been two of them. Scorpius could not deny the parallel, although it made admitting his connection even harder.

“Yeah, he kind of was, on a smaller scale. He killed a lot in person too, though. Anyway, he had followers called Death Eaters, who—”

“Ate death?” Lyra suggested.

“No, they… It was just what they were called, I don’t know. And, um…” He took a deep breath and thought about how to phrase it. “You know those two students on the train?”

“The ones who made a big deal about your last name?”

“Yeah, them.” He ran a worried hand through his blond hair for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Without his parents around to remind him to comb it, it was quickly turning into an uncontrolled mess with bits sticking out everywhere. “They were talking about my family, actually. My granddad was a Death Eater, and so was my dad — well he was _technically_ , but he hated it and I’ve never heard him say anything against Muggleborns, I mean I don’t think Mum would’ve married him, she’s not Muggleborn but Auntie Harriet is, that’s her best friend, she’s not really my aunt ‘cause my real aunt died before I was born but she’s like an aunt, Harriet I mean, and actually I think Mum’s parents were a bit pureblood-ish, but she’s not like that—”

Lyra cut him off before he ran out of breath. “I don’t think you’re a Nazi, Scorpius.”

“They weren’t _Nazis_ —”

“I don’t think you’re a wizard Nazi either,” she said frankly. “If you were, why would you be friends with me?”

He could feel his face was bright red with a mixture of embarrassment and relief, but he was too happy to care. “Thanks,” he replied, beaming. And then, just to make sure there were no nasty surprises later, he added quickly, “And my great-aunt was really, _really_ bad but my grandma’s nice and my other great-aunt Andromeda is cool. And has never killed anyone.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Is that unusual in your family?”

“No, just compared to Bellatrix. That’s my great-aunt. She’s dead.”

Lyra seemed to process this for a moment, then piped up with, “My granddad’s Jewish, actually. Well, he was raised Jewish, he’s actually not religious. He says he’s a humanist, but I think that’s a philosophy, not a religion. But I think he counts as Jewish ‘cause his mum’s was, but I don’t really know.”

Scorpius took this to mean, “I really don’t care if you had an evil great-aunt.” For which he was very grateful.

They spent a while talking about their families some more. Lyra had an aunt who was an artist, while Scorpius’s honorary aunt Harriet was a Hufflepuff alumna who worked rehabilitating sick and injured magical creatures. The common room began to fill up as more students returned to sort their things out before dinner. A couple of fifth years took up two armchairs near Lyra and Scorpius.

“…wrong with Cas’s sister on Saturday? That cup could’ve hit someone.”

Scorpius paused, listening. He had been a little alarmed by the incident himself, not so much of being hit by a flying cup but of how concerned the older students seemed to be. Surely Quidditch was more dangerous, but it was meant to be.

He didn’t recognise the first girl, who was very tall and bony with long dark brown hair and a somewhat doleful expression, but he remembered her friend as being Imogen, the fifth year prefect. “I don’t know,” he heard her say as he watched them from the corner of his eye. “But Liam said that Cas’s mum died over the summer, so that’s bound to fu—fudge you up,” she substituted quickly, noticing the young students nearby. Then she looked right towards Scorpius and he turned away quickly. “What are you looking at?”

Scorpius thought for a moment she was talking to him, but she came over to Lyra, who was leaning out the open arched window. Scorpius joined them by the window.  “There’s someone over there,” Lyra answered, pointing down at the edge of the forest. “I thought were weren’t meant to go in there.”

“It’s forbidden,” Imogen confirmed, “hence the name.” She took out her wand and tapped her glasses twice, squinting. “I can’t see who they are — you watched them walk over, I’m guessing?” Lyra nodded. “But they’re definitely going into the forest. I should probably tell Flitwick.”

“They’re probably just looking for potion ingredients,” said a student in the chair nearby. “You know people do that sometimes.”

“Then they’re idiots,” Imogen replied, frowning. She turned back to Lyra and Scorpius. “Don’t you two ever go in the Forbidden Forest without a teacher, okay? You’ll get your arses killed.”

“ _Imogen_ ,” chided her friend.

“I mean asses, you know, donkeys? If you take any with you, they will die. And so will you. So don’t.”

“Did you see anything about them as they walked over?” her friend asked Lyra, coming over to the window to look, but the figures were already gone.

Lyra shook her head. “They were wearing their hood-things up on their cloaks.”

“Can’t be Professor Hagrid,” Imogen mused. “You can always tell him, even from a distance. And I don’t think any of the other teachers go in there without him, except Professor Firenze, and again, cloaks can’t hide the whole ‘being a centaur’ thing. I think I’ll tell Flitwick. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing.”

The fifth year prefect made her way to the common room entrance and disappeared out into the stairway. Her friend wandered away, but Scorpius and Lyra stayed, staring out at the dark forest.

“Why were they going in there today, d’you reckon?” Lyra asked. “They could’ve just brought Potions stuff with them from the Apothecary, you’d think.”

“Dunno.” Scorpius had heard bad things about the forest. He loved magical creatures, but there were still those he never wanted to come face to face with, most of which lived among those dark trees.

He hoped those people knew what they were doing, whoever they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that my mangling of various canon accents/speech-habits hasn't driven you mad. I do try to make a decent attempt, I swear. While I aim to make this story canon-compliant aside from HP&CC and a few bits of Word of Rowling, some of the stuff that they learn in class is obviously made up by me. If any of that starts to feel inconsistent with canon or creates plotholes, please let me know! Concrit is always welcome.
> 
> Next time: Flying lessons and Gryffindor's new star Chasers.
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!
> 
> ETA: Complaints about aspects of canon you don't like do not fall under concrit for this fic. If there is a plot point that clashes with the canon magic system or other established plot points, I'd like to know. If you don't like an aspect of canon which I am merely reiterating (be it shipping, how magic works, Wizarding currency, etc.) then you can complain about that in your own space, not mine. Sometimes I try to clarify little inconsistencies within HP canon (such as why no one carries two wands) but I'm not going to overhaul the way magic works to suit my or anyone else's tastes. Thank you for respecting that.


	6. Flying Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The greatest surprise of all: Oliver Wood hasn't sorted everybody into Quidditch teams by the end of their first lesson.

In stark contrast to the painfully dull class presented by Professor Binns, Modern History of Magic proved to be an engaging breath of fresh air, in Rose’s opinion. She had always been rather frustrated by taboos that prevented her from understanding strange ideas — the notions of blood purity, for example. She didn’t really want to be _involved_ in it, but no one would tell her exactly why people believed it or where the idea came from. Then came the opening lines of Professor Bones’s lecture.

“A key to understanding history is to recognise the important influences on society at the time. What mattered to people ten, twenty, fifty years ago? What frightened them? What challenges was the magical world facing, and how did they react?

“One of the most influential philosophies of Twentieth Century Wizarding Britain was the pureblood philosophy, which asserts that wizards or witches born from magical families possess greater magical ability than Muggle-borns. Now, some of you may be acquainted with the ideas of blood purity, but what you might not know is that this attitude is far more recent that practitioners would have you believe. Prior to the instatement of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692, it was considered to be those of _greater_ magical prowess who came from non-magical families. The early predecessors to the pureblood philosophy were usually seen in a very unfavourable light by the larger community, and were often left in poverty. Many of those who later claimed to be pureblood were unrelated to these families, and prior to the Statute of Secrecy had close ties to the Muggle aristocracy.”

They spent a while on pureblood versus old beliefs about Muggleborns, and how the rise in popularity of the former tied in closely with the development of Muggle weaponry capable of besting a wand, before moving on to the International Statute of Secrecy. This was something Rose was intensely curious about, but Professor Bones did not give them a straightforward answer. Instead, she posed a question: “Besides the International Statute of Secrecy, why would you choose not to tell a Muggle acquaintance about your magic?”

The class members mulled over the question, with a few hands rising hesitantly above their heads. “Miss Cooper?” said Professor Bones.

Gwynneth Cooper looked like she regretted pulling her brown hair back into a braid that day, as it meant there was no chance for her to hide behind it. “They might be scared of you?” she offered tentatively.

“Fear,” Professor Bones agreed grimly, and wrote the word on the board. “Anyone else?”

Isobel, sitting next to her, raised a hand. Professor Bones nodded at her. “Some Muggles might attack you?”

“Violence, persecution.” Those went on the board too.

“They might want you to break the law?” offered Samuel Mirkwood. ‘Exploitation’ was added to the growing list.

“Miss Jones?” The tiny girl had raised her hand barely above her shoulder, but the professor had spotted it.

“They might ask you to do something you can’t,” she said, in a small, wavering voice. “Li-like curing a really sick person, or bringing someone alive again, and they would get mad when you can’t do it?”

“Expecting miracles, yes. Mister Nichols?”

“They might ask you to do magic for them all the time so they don’t have to work.”

“Becoming dependant on magic.” The professor said this with finality as she wrote the words on the board. Turning back to the class, she explained, “While many of the reasons for the International Statute of Secrecy have to do with protecting ourselves, one of the most prominent arguments for its continuation is how detrimental the influence of magic was on Muggle culture. In periods where wizards and witches were most accepted by the Muggle public, they relied on magic for the solution to nearly every problem. Invention and innovation fell into decline; even where the problem could not be solved with magic, it was _expected_ that it could be or would soon be taken care of by the Wizarding community. When the International Statute of Secrecy was instated, and the Muggle community began to believe that they were alone, progress restarted — which was a bit of a shock to those wizards who had become convinced that Muggles were incapable of doing things themselves. For some, this grew into a grudging respect for our non-magical peers, but for others, the developments in weaponry simply made Muggles more threatening. It was this fear that became the foundation for pureblood fanaticism, wherein wizards and witches thought themselves superior to Muggles or Muggle-borns who would have access to such technologies — because if they thought themselves were superior to Muggles, they needn’t fear them.”

 _If they thought themselves superior to Muggles, they needn’t fear them_. The words went around and around in Rose’s head for the next week or so, caught as she was on the strange concept that purebloods had started hating Muggles because they were _scared_ of them. She wondered if there were people who were scared of her mother, and came to the unlikely conclusion that there probably were. Her mother had a reputation for her intelligence, her magical skill, and particularly her ruthlessness when it came to changing the “old ways” of Wizarding laws and society — to someone who relied heavily on these old ways, she would naturally be very threatening.

The first day Rose woke up without thinking about the class at all was the Thursday of their second week at Hogwarts, and she had something even more important on her mind than philosophy: Flying Lessons.

Rose had been flying since she was knee high to a Bowtruckle, and she loved it. That morning she practically leapt out of bed, much to the displeasure of Charlie — the cat had been comfortably sleeping next to her before she rudely shoved him off the bed in her haste. She was almost humming as she made her way to the bathroom, which was located behind a small wooden door opposite their dormitory entrance. Rose suspected the dormitory bathrooms had been added long after the castle's construction with some kind of Undetectable Extension Charm when plumbing came into vogue, as it seemed to her to be otherwise impossible to locate their position within the tower. Nonetheless, they were decorated with Ravenclaw-esque finery, with elegant silver showerheads and claw-footed bronze bathtubs, partitioned by white marble dividers. She showered quickly and got dressed, substituting her usual skirt for trousers. It was possible to fly in a skirt, but it wasn’t particularly comfortable. Grabbing her book bag and pulling her frizzy wet curls back into a ponytail, she headed down to breakfast.

On weekday mornings, the houses usually sat together, but it wasn’t much of a problem for Rose. After her initial misgivings, she found Isobel and Aimée to be a fairly engaging pair, if a little competitive. Rose still sat with Albus and Elin in Charms and Potions classes, but when they shared the class with the Hufflepuffs or the Slytherins, she sat with Isobel, Aimée and occasionally Meghan, depending on whether the latter felt like sitting with them or Steve and Andy. That morning Meghan was sitting next to Aimée, asking about brooms, when Rose sat down on her other side.

“All the boys are saying that they’ve been flying for ages, but I’ve never even seen a flying broom before!” Meghan was saying. “Are we supposed to know how already? Do the advanced people end up in a different class?”

Aimée rolled her eyes. “Of course they’re saying that, they are boys! They have to make sure everybody knows how they nearly escaped being a dragon’s lunch at age five so it looks especially ridiculous when they fall off their broom before they’ve left the ground. You will be caught up to them by the end of the class, _je te promets_.” She punctuated this promise by stabbing a fork into her fruit salad, one of the various breakfast options on the table.

Rose considered the bacon and eggs before deciding on cereal. It wouldn’t do to overeat before flying, and besides, no one seemed to make bacon sandwiches quite like her dad did, with the possible exception of her grandmother.

“Do you fly, Rose?” Isobel asked from Aimée’s other side. The tall girl seemed equally prepared for the lesson, having tied her long black hair into a plait and donned the fingerless gloves some people used when playing Quidditch. She had spent the past week with various Quidditch- and flying-related books piled up on her bedside table.

Rose had a mouthful of cereal at that moment, so she gave a shrug while she finished chewing. “We play Quidditch a lot when all my cousins are staying at Grandma’s house,” she replied lightly after swallowing, not wanting to sound like the squabbling boys, one of whom was currently trying to convince the others he had had a run-in with a Muggle jet plane. “But other than that, not much. How about you?”

Isobel’s pale cheeks went faintly pink. “Once or twice, maybe,” she said, and then added, “I didn’t like it much.”

“It looks kind of scary,” Meghan agreed. “I saw some people out there on the weekend, flying around. How do they not fall off?”

“Wasn’t there anything about broomsticks in that book of yours?” Isobel shot back. “I didn’t say I was _scared_ — I know how the charms work. It’s just uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Meghan glared at her. The two girls might have moved in the same circles, but they still despised each other. Although she was better friends with Isobel than Meghan and occasionally felt the urge to defend her actions, Rose had to admit that Isobel was, by-and-large, the instigator. She seemed to think that Meghan’s unfamiliarity with normal magical concepts was the most unforgivable ignorance.

“Do _you_ fly, Aimée?” Rose asked hastily, hoping to nip the fight in the bud.

“A little,” she said, looking relieved that she wasn’t about to end up caught between Meghan and Isobel arguing. “Genevieve does not like Quidditch, though, so I don’t get to play much. You said your cousins play a lot?”

Rose nodded. “Most of them. Victoire’s the Gryffindor team captain this year, and Fred’s their Keeper. I think Dom and James are trying out for the team today, actually. They wanted to get in last year, but there was a full team.”

“They were probably too young, anyway,” Isobel said, with a glance towards the mixed house huddle of first year boys and girls that had developed like a malignant growth off the side of the Gryffindor table, all caught up in their tales of daring flights and dramatic near-misses. “Honestly, the way they’re going on, you’d think the Quidditch captains picked players straight from their first class. I bet half of them haven’t even flown before.”

“You seem to know a lot about it all of a sudden,” Meghan said irritably. “Didn’t you just say you’ve only flown once or twice?”

“I’m not telling everyone I performed a Wronski Feint at age five,” Isobel replied with dignity. “Or that I’ll oust the current Seeker from the Ravenclaw team with my excellence.”

“Yeah, Jay heard about all of that,” said Katherine Tredwell, sitting down opposite them. Her presence had the positive effect of distracting Isobel and Meghan from their glaring match. “He didn’t seem too offended, but he’s like that — though if they get too big-headed, don’t be surprised if when their turn for Seeker practise comes around the golf balls have mysteriously turned into rotten eggs. That aside, how are you all doing? Not too worried about Flying Lessons?”

They all assured her that they were doing fine. Katherine seemed to take it on herself to make sure they were faring well with their first weeks of classes, in stark contrast to her counterpart Edgar, who had said barely a word to any of the first years since their first night at the school. The exception was not a pleasant one — Rose had heard him hauling Lyra over the coals last Thursday for losing points in Potions class. She _had_ managed to cause an overspill that melted a hole through the floor, but Professor Kirtle had already taken the points away so why reprimand her further? Rose was starting to believe that Dorian hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Edgar was obsessed with the house cup.

They had seen a little more of the other prefects. Craig and Ji-hye had come to say hello a few times over the past two weeks, and Imogen and Jay had a habit of showing up just when someone was about to try something dangerous for fun. Rose suspected they may have been chosen not in spite of but _because_ they had been their year’s resident troublemakers, as they always knew what idea someone was planning and whether they needed to put a stop to it. Even when no first-year-sourced disruption was involved, the two fifth-year prefects were rather prominent feature in the oddball side of Ravenclaw house. Jay loved Divination and had a fondness for “’mancies” of any kind, but his current fascination was with ovomancy. The other fifth-years considered it their duty to throw out his rotting “predictions” whenever he was safely away from the tower, particularly the ones that got so potent the scent couldn’t be masked by standard spells. Imogen was skilled in the more solid area of Transfiguration, but given her hobby seemed to be getting turned into a variety of animals to study what it felt like (at one point including, Rose had heard tell, a small bear), she didn’t really fall on the “serious research” side of the house, either. Other Urics-in-training included the third-year boy who believed the key to Transfiguration was learning to turn anything and everything into the most difficult shape possible (an octopus), and the seventh-year girl who liked to grow giant vegetables in the dormitory that turned complimentary colours when put in a salad together, and the two fifth year girls whose respective experiments seemed to keep destroying each other (there were stories about exploding pebbles and an illegally modified Hoover). All in all, Rose felt it was best to keep a fair distance from the odder side of her house. Though fascinating, their experiments rarely seemed to go as planned.

As Katherine politely inquired after their fellow first-years, Rose thought with mild annoyance that it was silly for the two Flying classes to be divided as Hufflepuffs-and-Ravenclaws and Gryffindors-and-Slytherins. Whose idea was it to put them in the same class as their Quidditch rivals? Not that she really minded on that point, nor did she have anything against the Hufflepuffs, but she was sad that she wouldn’t be able to share the lesson with Albus and Elin. She and Albus always played Quidditch together over the holidays, and it didn’t seem right that they weren’t officially learning to fly together.

After breakfast, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years trudged down to the flat, trim lawn where they had been instructed to meet Mr Wood. He was waiting there, a burly man in his early forties with wind-tousled brown hair and permanent furrows in his brow that gave him a constant expression of deep concentration. His face seemed to brighten considerably when he looked up from setting down a final broom on the ground to find the students approaching.

“Good morning,” he called cheerfully. Unlike the trips to their other classes, the group had set out as one that day, mainly pulled together by the bunch of boys and girls still clamouring over whose flying exploits were more impressive. Rose, Aimée, Meghan and Isobel weren’t far behind them, followed by a trio of Hufflepuff students, with Malfoy and Lyra bringing up the rear. Rose wondered why he wasn’t up ahead with the main group, claiming to have outflown a Hippogriff. She had a secret dread that the reason was the same as her own: confidence, and the skill to maintain it. She swore to herself that she wasn’t going to be outflown by him. It was bad enough that he seemed to be ahead of her in Potions. She wouldn’t let him beat her at her favourite sport.

Of course, they weren’t likely to get into Quidditch today, she noted as they walked up to the two rows of rather decrepit looking broomsticks. There was the small matter of getting everyone off the ground first.

Wood instructed them to each stand next to a broom. He sized them up as they formed two ragged lines, correcting those who stood too close or too far back from their brooms. Rose tried not to be annoyed with herself when she was told to stand a little farther away from hers. She wasn’t nervous, not exactly — she was _anxious_ , desperate to be in the air and to see all the others flying and know what she was up against.

Her mother would probably be disappointed if she knew how competitive Rose was when it came to Quidditch, or at least if she knew how far it outstripped her competitiveness in her school subjects. But while she could get herself fairly worked up over beating other students to the punch at a Transfiguration question, there was nothing quite like outflying someone for a last-moment goal or stopping the other team’s Seeker with a well-timed Bludger. She wasn’t sure how she stood amongst the group of first-years as a Quidditch player, but had high hopes that years competing with her older cousins would shine through.

Wood finished correcting his students and took his place at the head of the two lines, where his own broom lay in the grass. “Okay, class, as this is probably the first time many of you have used a broomstick we’re going to take this step-by-step. For those of you who have flown before, no rushing ahead — it’s a recipe for mayhem. To begin, hold your right hand over your broom and say UP!” His broomstick flew into his waiting hand, which caught it with practised ease. “Now you!”

The air was filled with the word in moments. Rose looked sceptically at the weather-beaten Cleansweep Five at her side. She was sure her oldest uncle had mentioned using one when he was at school around thirty years ago. “Up,” she commanded, half expecting the thing to fall to pieces at the word, and barely managed to grab the handle when it suddenly swept up to meet her hand. Wood, who was only a few spaces away, chuckled when he saw her shock.

“They’re not perfect brooms, but most still have a fair amount of life in them,” he advised her over the sound of the group. “I hated the school brooms when I was on the Quidditch team here — too slow for competitive matches — but they’re good for learning on.”

She nodded and tried to smile in response, but her fingers were shaking as she adjusted her grip on the broom handle. She had almost failed at the first hurdle. She needed to be more careful.

Around her, the other students were attempting to summon their brooms with varying success. Aimée had managed to get hers in hand, but on either side of her both Meghan and Isobel were having a harder time of it. Lyra was grappling with an old Comet that was probably several inches taller than her, and as she watched Scorpius’s broom flew rather violently into his hand. He went pale — paler than his usual ashen hue, even — and Rose guessed he had also underestimated the liveliness of the old brooms. She didn’t know whether to be relieved she wasn’t alone in her mistake or annoyed that she had missed a chance to get ahead of him. The handful of Hufflepuffs she was friendly with seemed to be doing well enough, although Gwyn’s broom was hovering stubbornly at knee height and refused to go any higher. Her gaze returned to Malfoy and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously as he leaned towards Lyra to whisper something in her ear. He was planning something, she just knew it.

After a minute or two, Mr Wood went round to those who were still having trouble and after every student had a broom in their hand he instructed them to mount, which they managed without much trouble. “Alright then,” he said, mounting his own broom. “On the count of three, I want you to kick off the ground and level out your broom to hover when you get to my height. I’ll demonstrate.” He kicked off and quickly pulled into a hover at about four metres in the air. “Got it?” he called down to them. “Okay, one! Two! Three!”

Rose kicked the ground eagerly and took off into the air. The old Cleansweep was less sensitive to the touch than the Comet she rode at her grandmother’s, so she went a bit higher than she meant to before stopping. After steadying her broom, she looked around to find that not all of her classmates had joined her. Gwyn’s stubborn old Shooting Star was refusing to take off, and Meghan had stopped to help Steve, who had managed to trip over his broom’s handle as he tried to kick off. Rose looked over to check if Wood was going to help Gwyn with her broom and saw that he was looking up instead. She followed his gaze just in time to see a figure now twenty feet above them topple from their broom.

“ARESTO MOMENTUM!” Wood bellowed, just in time to slow the falling student as they hurtled towards the ground. The boy landed gently on the grass a few metres off from where they had been lined up.

Wood got the class to land and marched over to where Scorpius Malfoy was struggling to sit up. “ _What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?!_ ”

The blond boy seemed incapable of replying. Rose, just behind the Quidditch coach, was brimming with fury. “What are you trying to prove, showing off like that?! You could’ve got yourself killed!”

A moment later, Rose found herself staring at the pointy end of a long silver-white wand. “Back off, Rose,” Lyra snarled. For a second she was too stunned to move, but then got it together enough to grab her own wand from her pocket and point it at her assailant.

“Wands down, girls,” came Wood’s deep voice. “Miss Weasley, I will take care of this myself. Miss Jones, please stand aside.”

They both lowered their wands but Lyra didn’t move. She had put herself between the rest of the group and the disoriented-looking Scorpius, and even the intimidating form of Mr Wood’s solid bulk would not budge her.

“He wasn’t _showing off_ ,” she insisted.

The boy in question looked up at her words and tried to speak. “I didn’t— I was— I’m—” He couldn’t finish. His grey eyes were wide with panic and he seemed to be breathing very quickly.

“He’s acrophobic,” Lyra said very softly to the Quidditch coach, but the other students still heard.

“He’s scared of heights?” snorted Rupert. “That’s ridiculous, how could he even stand the tower?”

“Quiet,” Wood snapped. He seemed to be calming down now, and turned back to the frenzied-looking Scorpius with a good deal more kindness. “You lost control of your broom then? Then panicked and tried to get off in midair?”

“He fainted,” Rose said with abrupt certainty. She had seen him fall straight off the broom (a broom that was now nothing but a speck above their heads: it had kept rising even after its rider had plummeted to the ground) and she was sure there had been no struggle.

“ _Fainted?_ ” Rupert had to smother a laugh as Wood turned a cold glare on him. Some of the others started snickering. Scorpius managed to focus enough to meet Rose’s eyes with a look of pure loathing. Lyra had her fists clenched so tightly they were shaking, and for one frightening moment Rose thought the other girl was going to slap her.

“Can you help him walk?” Wood asked Lyra. She turned away from Rose and nodded. “Good. Take him to the hospital wing and ask for a calming draught. Maybe get Madam Pomfrey to make sure he hasn’t been injured.”

He pulled the blond boy effortlessly to his feet and let him lean on his arm for a moment before Lyra took over. The two students began slowly moving towards the castle, but not before Scorpius cast Rose one last venomous glance. He was no longer just a rival for the highest Potions mark, she realised as she looked into those cold grey eyes.

She had made an enemy.

* * *

 

Though anyone she asked would assure Poppy Pomfrey that she did not look so much as half of her seventy-two years, there were certainly days when she felt every one of them. The first weeks of the year were always trouble as the new students adapted to their new curriculum — people spilling things on themselves in Potions, setting someone’s hair alight in Charms, getting bitten by an aggressive plant in the Herbology greenhouses… Poppy had treated no less than seven students that morning and they had barely started the first class of the day. Mentally, she damned that disappearing step in one of the moving staircases, which had provided the Hospital Wing with three sprained and two broken ankles over the past week.

She had returned from retirement while Hannah Abbott was caring for her newborn twins. She was also training two new Healers for the school to help when Madam Abbott came back, but if anyone thought having the two of them around would lighten her workload, they were sorely mistaken. Indeed, the way Poppy saw things, she had to treat the students while simultaneously watching over the work of her two apprentices, which she often found sorely lacking.

“You’ll have to stay the night,” she informed a fifth-year Slytherin boy with an arm swollen to the size of a large badger. He had claimed it was hit by a curse from a classmate, and she hadn’t contradicted him — although she may have had a few scathing words about the unfortunate results of boys who had succeeded in using that particular spell on a certain area of their anatomy. “Call me or Mr Samuels if you need anything,” she added, deliberately excluding the other healer in training, Eva Sandsguard, who lacked the delicacy to discuss such a case. Her brashness did seem to dissuade some of their patients from further stupidity, however, and Poppy took her blessings where she could find them.

When a pair of Ravenclaw first years stumbled into the room, one leaning on the other and shaking all over, Poppy decided this was not a case for either Eva or Martin and hurried over to see what trouble this student had managed to get himself into.

The girl he was leaning on led him to the nearest bed at Poppy’s instruction. Seeing the boy was in no state to explain, the nurse turned to his friend. “What happened to him?”

“H-he fell off his broom,” she explained, a tad hesitantly. “Mr Wood cast a spell that stopped him from hitting the ground really hard, but he told me to ask for a Calming Draught and to check that Scorpius wasn’t hurt by the fall.”

She seemed to be bracing herself for further interrogation, but Poppy simply nodded and asked, “Was that Calming Draught for you or your friend, dear?”

She blinked in surprise. “Um, for Scorpius. At least I’m pretty sure it was…”

Poppy considered the situation as she went to the Potions cupboard, where she discovered with relief that Professor Kirtle had sent in a new batch of Calming Draught that morning — their stores had been running a little low. The boy looked like he was recovering from a full-blown panic attack, and certainly anything that could make one fall off one’s broom was likely to require a large dose of the draught. The girl did seem to be friendly with him and seeing her classmate fall from his broom was likely to have given her quite a scare as well. With this in mind, Poppy poured out two flasks of Calming Draught — one full dose and one quarter dose — and brought them over to the bed, handing the full one to the boy, who looked distinctly familiar although she was certain he hadn’t been in the Hospital Wing before, and the quarter dose to the girl. “Drink up, both of you,” she commanded, and they did as they were told. Poppy felt glad that Calming Draught was a decent-tasting potion, unlike many other healing substances: the boy, who had started with a hesitant sip, was now draining his flask. The girl, who was standing, looked a little lightheaded, so Poppy summoned a chair and made her sit.

“Now,” she said to the boy once he looked recovered enough to speak, “Does anything hurt?”

He considered for a moment, still a tad frazzled, before replying uncertainly, “My head?”

“Like a headache or an injury?”

“Headache,” he said, surer this time. Poppy cast a few charms to check him for injuries just in case, but it seemed Wood’s spell had stopped the boy before he could hit anything. Good. Poppy had always found the Quidditch-loving young man rather irritating during his school years, due to his habit of disturbing her patients to crow about a match result and his apparent valuing of the Quidditch Cup over his teammates’ wellbeing, but since his hiring as Quidditch coach she had been forced to change her opinion of Oliver Wood. He might see Quidditch as the most vital flying skill, but he watched over the safety of his students diligently and had yet to provide her patients with any injuries worse than a broken ankle.

“What are your names?” Poppy asked. “I assume you are first years, if you were in Wood’s class.”

“I’m Lyra,” replied the girl, seemingly recovered. “Lyra Jones, and this is Scorpius Malfoy. We’re first year Ravenclaws — although I guess you knew that,” she added sheepishly, realising both of them were wearing Ravenclaw robes.

Now she knew why she recognised the boy. He looked a good deal like Draco, now that she looked at him with his father in mind, but something about his expression made the hard lines of his face seem softer somehow. Poppy had seen Draco Malfoy many years earlier, just before she retired — he was providing Wolfsbane Potion to a student while Slughorn was away — and though he seemed a changed man now, every sneer, every unkind word, every curse was etched into his face as though in stone. This boy, breathing slowly as the potion took its full effect, had none of that. His mother must be Astoria Greengrass, Poppy thought — or was she Astoria Malfoy now? A nice girl, even if she was always injuring herself taking on ridiculous magical creatures. There wasn’t much of her colouring in Scorpius, but his dark grey eyes were the same shape as hers, and he had something of her kindness in his pointed face.

“Wait here,” she told them briskly. “I’ll check on you soon, and if either of you needs to miss your next class I’ll send your professor a note — it is Professor Shafiq you have next, isn’t it? Don’t be too worried,” she added, a touch gentler. “We always get a few injuries on the first day of flying. Here comes one now,” she said, noticing a small blonde Hufflepuff girl had just stumbled in, cradling her left arm. Poppy turned to call for one of her trainees, but Eva was already hurrying over to help the student over to the bed next to Scorpius’s.

“If that’s from _anything_ Quidditch related, I will hang Wood out the window by his toes,” Poppy said when she saw the damage done to the girl’s wrist. The skin was torn open and the bone was sticking out; her hand was hanging limply from her arm.

Lyra made a sympathetic face. “Didn’t they send anyone up with you, Becka? That looks _awful_.”

The girl — Becka Smith, she’d been in earlier that week with a burn from a Transfiguration mishap — winced as Eva helped her onto the bed, jostling her arm slightly. “Mr Wood sent Bronwen,” she told Lyra, sniffling a little, “but she wanted to get back so she left me at the stairs. I-I flew into a tree.”

“But we weren’t near any trees, not really,” said Scorpius, frowning.

“I couldn’t control the broom; it flew into the forest and I hit a tree.”

“Did you hit your head?” Eva asked. Becka nodded. “Then what’s this girl doing leavin’ you at the bottom of the stairs? You coulda passed out and bled to death wiv an arm like that!”

Eva’s accent, usually a rather mild Cockney, had a habit of intensifying when she was angry, and Poppy swept in to take over the mending of Becka’s arm. Bone-setting was her specialty area anyway. “Watch carefully, Eva. Don’t worry, dear,” she told the Hufflepuff girl. “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

As Poppy got to work healing her arm, Becka turned to Scorpius and Lyra. “Did you get hurt when you fell, Scorpius?” she asked, a little shyly.

“Just my pride,” Scorpius replied sheepishly, though he still looked a little drained. Becka began to reply, then winced as Poppy used magic to reset her bones to their original position.

“It is important to set and heal the bone with separate charms, Eva,” Poppy advised. “It allows you to be certain that the setting has worked properly, not to mention that spells that do both at once are notoriously unreliable. Remember, a botched healing can be worse than the original injury.”

“Sure,” Eva replied absently. She looked anxiously at Becka. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” Becka said, trying to smile. “It’s better than spending hours in a hospital waiting room. I broke my hand once, and it took forever just to get an x-ray.”

“What’s an x-ray?” Scorpius asked.

“It’s a Muggle contraption for seeing people’s bones,” Poppy informed him as she examined Becka’s arm to ensure her Bone-setting Charm had done its job. “Radiation or some such thing — barbaric practice!”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” said Becka. “The worst thing was that at the end of the day, once I’d gotten my cast and been released by the hospital, I didn’t know how to get home. Mrs Harris had memory troubles — she forgot there were two of us half the time — and she’d forgotten which hospital I was at. I don’t know how long I waited there before the Knight Bus picked me up.”

Scorpius frowned. “I thought you were at a Muggle hospital,” he said, just as Lyra asked, “Who’s Mrs Harris?”

“Mrs Harris was our foster-mum for a few months. She sent us back after I caught the Knight Bus — I called it by accident, and they let me on even though I didn’t have money for it and they wouldn’t take my bus pass — and I thought it was some mad dream or that the anaesthetic had done something to my brain, but then Jenny saw it when they let me off and we kept insisting to Mrs Harris that it had happened. But she swore that she’d gone to get me even though she _still_ didn’t know where I’d been, and when Sara, our caseworker, came to check on us, Mrs Harris said we were both mad and had to leave, so Sara had to find us a new foster home — though I’m not sure if she was convinced that we were mad, or that Mrs Harris was.”

“Aren’t people supposed to have permanent foster homes?” Lyra asked. “I thought being shunted around a bunch of different homes was s’pposed to be bad for you.”

Becka looked a little pained, Poppy noted sympathetically, but she hid it quickly. “They were meant to be permanent, I think, but… Well, weird things happened to us a lot. It… It frightened them. After a while they’d get too scared for us to stay. It wasn’t their fault,” she added defensively. “I’d have been scared too; I _was_ scared sometimes.”

Eva glanced at Poppy, eyebrows raised. Poppy had to admit she shared her scepticism. Though she was not a Muggleborn herself, she knew that their parents had a tendency to be more worried _for_ their children that scared _of_ them, and didn’t see why if one was really prepared to take a child as their own it would be any different. Becka seemed a sweet, forgiving girl — perhaps too forgiving for her own good. Poppy did hope that generosity didn’t lead her to falling in with the wrong sort.

“Still, I think leaving you alone at the hospital in the first place was pretty mean,” said Lyra. “I mean, what if you hadn’t been able to catch that night bus? What if you’d been murdered or something? I’m not allowed to take really late buses where I live, Mum says it’s dangerous.”

“Jenny’s always saying stuff like that. Not about late buses, but about Mrs Harris being mean. Mrs Harris was just a dotty old lady — it was hardly her fault she was a bit scatterbrained. Jenny forgets sometimes that not everybody’s as clever as her, or as brave.” Becka blushed a little, looking guilty.

Poppy relinquished her arm. “All done.”

The Hufflepuff girl stared at her arm in disbelief — where the wound had been just minutes before there wasn’t so much as a scar. “I’m never going to get used to that,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

“I hope you won’t have cause to,” Poppy replied tartly. “The three of you can wait here until your next class; I’m disinclined to let Mister Wood have you back just yet.” Not until she had given him a stern talking-to. “Do try not to be back in here before the day ends, all of you.”

As she walked away to check on her other patients, Poppy found herself strangely happy despite her anxieties about the students and her determination to give Oliver Wood a piece of her mind. In an odd sort of way, it was nice to be back at Hogwarts again.

* * *

 

Rose made her way to dinner with a spring in her step and just the faintest hint of unease in her mind. Despite her nerves, she had been by far the best flier in their class, though Artemis Isaacs promised to be good competition once they got to playing actual Quidditch — the tall, sporty girl was a fast flier with ridiculously good reflexes, and Rose was sure she’d be brilliant as a Seeker despite not having the traditional small build. Andy was good too, and though Calan was Muggleborn he seemed to be a natural on a broomstick. Most of the class had shown some promise by the end of the class, and she had high hopes that they would be playing Quidditch sooner rather than later.

They _had_ been four down by the end of the class, of course — Lyra had not returned after being sent off with Malfoy; Becka Smith’s broom had gone completely mad and sent her rocketing into the Forbidden Forest only to crash into a large pine; and Will Kent had attempted a demonstration of his favourite Quidditch player’s signature move near the end of the class and had to be personally helped away by Wood, who was muttering something about how Madam Pomfrey was going to kill him. Quidditch was probably off the table until they managed to keep the whole class out of the hospital wing, Rose thought, sobering.

The rest of her day had not gone quite so well. She hadn’t realised that her fellow Ravenclaws were not really _that_ competitive until Scorpius Malfoy decided to up the ante. When he and Lyra returned from the hospital wing for Transfiguration, there was a lot of whispering and sniggering coming from some of the boys, but other than scowling at them as he sat down, Malfoy hadn’t seemed too upset. Rose had proceeded to forget all about him until Professor Shafiq had started quizzing them on the most recently assigned chapter of _A Beginner’s Guide To Transfiguration_. Her hand shot up to answer his first question, but he had called on Scorpius instead. This happened twice more before she decided that she was not becoming paranoid and Scorpius was in fact deliberately preventing her from answering anything, even at the cost of his own marks, as his rapid-fire replies were far from perfect. In return Rose had begun pointing out the inadequacies of his explanations, resulting in a heated back-and-forth over whether Emeric Switch had meant that metal was the easiest material to transfigure from or into. Professor Shafiq had managed to silence their debate and had not called on either of them for the rest of the lesson.

Potions was even worse, because it was Malfoy’s best subject. There had been little quizzing that day as it was their double period and practical lesson, but Rose was certain that her ingredients kept being moved just out of her reach, so that her timing was off. Luckily, the cure for boils they were assigned to brew was not a particularly precise potion and the disruption was more irritating than genuinely problematic, although in one close shave she nearly added the porcupine quills before removing her cauldron from the fire. When pink smoke finally started wafting out from the cauldron, Rose was overwhelmed with relief. When Professor Kirtle had praised Scorpius’s potion (after telling Rose that she would need to organise her ingredients better, as her harried behaviour would not do her any favours when they came to more complex potion-making), she had fought the urge to grab his cauldron and pour his perfectly brewed boil cure down the sink.

The whole incident had put her in a foul mood, but it was salvaged by a brief encounter with Oliver Wood on her way back up to Ravenclaw Tower. He had been politely complimentary in class, but obviously his job was to teach people to fly, not pump up the egos of those who already could. So it came as a surprise when, as she passed him in the corridor, he had told her that she should definitely try out for her house Quidditch team next year. The unexpected compliment had sent her mood soaring and if Scorpius had been glaring at her when she passed him in the common room, she hadn’t registered it. She was too caught up in a marvellous fantasy of becoming the best Quidditch player Ravenclaw had ever seen.

Only when she arrived at the Great Hall was she knocked fully from her reverie. James, who had been talking excitedly to his friends at the Gryffindor table when she walked in, immediately noticed her and swept up to her, grinning madly.

“Guess what, Rosie?” he said, halfway between smugness and outright glee. “Dom and I made the Quidditch team! You’re looking at Gryffindor’s new star Chaser.” At this line, he struck a pose, as if her expected her to pull out a camera and start taking pictures. Rose was just about to congratulate him before Fred, one of her favourite cousins, came striding up.

“Our new star Chaser?” joked Fred, who was the Gryffindor team’s Keeper. He took more after his mother Angelina than his father George, with dark skin and curly brown hair, but there was something in his cheerful hazel eyes that distinctly reminded Rose of old pictures she had seen of her Uncle George and his late twin brother — Fred’s namesake — from their youth. “Here I was thinking I heard Vicky say you two barely made the cut.”

James gave an exaggerated pout at the fifth-year boy. “Vic’s only saying that because she’s still mad at Dom for stealing her badge. And probably me for telling everyone she was snogging Teddy at the train station. Did I tell you about that, by the way? Our Victoire, _snogging_ our Teddy Lupin!”

Fred snorted. “Old news, mate. They’ve been doing that on and off for years. Besides, even if you got in fair and square — and I’ll admit, it was a decent goal you scored against me—”

“Decent?! It was bloody brilliant!”

“— even if it was one of very few,” Fred continued, smirking. “Evie’s still our star Chaser. You two better hope you’re ready — sometimes, new players don’t even last the month.”

“If Vic really didn’t think we’d last, why would she pick us?” James demanded, his mock pout edging towards a genuine one.

“Nepotism?” Rose suggested brightly, just as Fred replied, “Desperation?”

James glared at them, noticing their badly concealed amusement, and then sighed dramatically. “If you two aren’t going to congratulate me, I’ll just have to tell someone who actually cares about my achievements,” he said long-sufferingly, and swanned back to his group of admirers.

“Nepotism, huh?” Fred laughed, shaking his head. “Well, there’s one good thing about you being in Ravenclaw: if you make the Quidditch team nobody can accuse you of getting in on those grounds.”

“Nobody really says things like that, do they?”

“Not to my knowledge, but we did just double our Weasley quotient so complaints may be forthcoming.”

“Technically, James is a Potter.”

“Honorary Weasley,” Fred said dismissively. “Anyway, I’d better go find Victoire, I haven’t seen her since tryouts — I think she might still be on the Quidditch pitch, probably having a breakdown over the thought of having to play alongside James and Dom all year. See you, Rosie!”

Fred went off in the direction of the exit and Rose continued into the Great Hall, congratulating a very satisfied Dominique before taking a place at the Ravenclaw table. Their team had held Quidditch try-outs as well, re-examining all of the player positions in the interests of fairness, although in the end the six previous team members had kept their places. The new Chaser, a fourth-year named Annabelle Brown, was replacing a player who had finished their education the previous school year.

Isobel hadn’t wanted to talk about Quidditch, though; she was altogether more interested in complaining about how _rude_ Scorpius had been in Transfiguration. “He barely knew the answers to those questions,” she said snippily. “So why on earth was he being so _pushy?_ I could have cheered when you set him straight about transfiguring metals, I really could. And why didn’t Lyra come back for the rest of Flying Lessons? After all, _she_ didn’t have any reason to be in the hospital wing, did she? Just being lazy, I expect.” Isobel cast a reproachful eye over where Scorpius and Lyra were sitting farther down the table, out of earshot. “How we’re supposed to maintain the reputation of our house with people like that in it is beyond me.”

“At least Scorpius is good at Potions,” Aimée said, contemplating. “Not like in Flying. I ‘ave never seen anybody faint before, except Genevieve, and she was always faking or taking one of those sweets, what were they called?”

“Skiving Snackboxes?” Rose suggested. Aimée nodded. “The ones that make you pass out are called Fainting Fancies.”

Isobel looked at both of them suspiciously. “You two aren’t planning to use any, I hope?”

“Of course not,” Rose said, a little annoyed. “I only really know about them because my dad used to run Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes with Uncle George.” She left out the part where most of her cousins would gladly down half a dozen of the Snackboxes if the teachers hadn’t long ago caught on and started storing spare antidote ends of the sweets in every classroom.

“George Weasley? He was in the Prophet over the summer, wasn’t he?” Aimée asked. “ _Les Détraqueurs_ , they attacked him in Diagon Alley?”

“Is that really the French word for Dementors?” Rose said lightly. “How interesting.”

“He wasn’t killed, was he?” Isobel asked. “Well, of course, not _killed_ , but he wasn’t Kissed?”

The Dementor’s Kiss. Rose shuddered at the thought of it. To think that it had once been thought an acceptable punishment to have one’s soul sucked out.

“No,” Aimée replied, when it became clear that answers from Rose were not forthcoming. “He was ‘elped by Aurors. It is frightening, though, to think that you could be shopping and suddenly _they_ appear.”

All three of them shivered. These days Dementors were mostly found in dank, lonely places in the countryside, but every so often a group of them would gather enough strength to descend on some heavily populated area, particularly favouring Wizarding communities, perhaps due to some natural attraction to magic. Aurors or civilians usually managed to drive them away, but every so often there was a report of some unfortunate individual being caught alone and wandless, leaving them traumatised at best or a soulless shell at worst.

They moved onto lighter topics as puddings appeared — Rose would have to find the kitchens soon and thank the house-elves for their cooking — but her unease lingered. Certainly there wouldn’t be any Dark magic going on at Hogwarts, she told herself — although when she accidentally met Scorpius Malfoy’s grey eyes over the large fruitcake, she quickly turned away. Even the son of a known Death Eater wouldn’t be game to get into anything suspect while he was within Hogwarts walls…

Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Apologies to Rose for once again stealing a chunk of her chapter away from her, and to all Londoners for mangling the Cockney accent.
> 
> Next time: Hallowe'en!
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!


	7. A Ghostly Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the underachiever among brilliant students is a tough gig, even at Hogwarts.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, bullying, and manipulation.

Time raced along at Hogwarts, and after what seemed like only a few weeks of settling in, the Ravenclaw first years found themselves nearing the end of October. They watched with envy as the older students headed out for the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, only to be cheered when the prefects brought back several bags full of sweets and other trinkets for those who weren’t allowed to come. Their classes had also been getting more difficult, but rather than bringing down the mood in the first year dormitories, it seemed much brighter than the start of term. Most of the Ravenclaws seemed to thrive on challenging work, and at the very least those who had previously spent their time bothering their dorm-mates were now fully occupied with homework. The first years were particularly enthused when they began to have more and more lessons on practical magic, and those who had struggled at first gained skill and confidence.

There was one first year who wasn’t doing so well, however; in fact, Lyra seemed to be getting worse as term wore on. She forgot incantations in Transfiguration, stumbled over definitions in Charms, never went through a Potions practical class without either spilling her ingredients or getting the sleeves of her robes in her cauldron (resulting in the loss of many house points and several trips to the hospital wing), and had been permanently sidelined in their Flying Lessons’ mock-Quidditch games after failing to notice the Snitch when it was fluttering near her ponytail. She couldn’t make head nor tail of her star chart, which had been reduced to a decorative poster, and however interesting she found Defence Against the Dark Arts she always seemed to mix up names of the creatures in _Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them_, leading to an unfortunate incident where she had declared on a quiz that the Nogtail was arguably the most dangerous beast in the world, only to later realise that she had meant to write Nundu and that the Nogtail was in fact a pestilent demon that resembled a piglet. Herbology had been going well enough up until a few weeks ago — now she couldn’t bear to look Professor Longbottom in the eye, not after she had accidentally poisoned a whole patch of Shrivelfig seedlings by using the wrong fertiliser. And she still cringed at the memory of the day when Professor Shafiq checked all their notes to make sure they had been precise enough and had discovered her assortment of dot-points and half-heard phrases. Scorpius had been kind enough to lend her his notes when the Transfiguration professor insisted she would not be allowed to so much as raise a wand in his class until she had learnt the lessons properly, and hadn’t complained when she returned them significantly more tearstained than they had been when he had given them to her.

Lyra had never been academically gifted, but she had thought, perhaps foolishly, that Hogwarts would be different. As it turned out, the one good thing that had come from it all was meeting Scorpius. In her darker moments, Lyra thought that he would have long ago abandoned her if he hadn’t been an outcast from their fellow Ravenclaws himself, but realistically Scorpius had enough friends in the other houses to hang around with if he had secretly hated her. He always helped her when she asked, but the further they got into the term the more she found herself too ashamed to admit how far behind she was. If the disappointment of her teachers wasn’t enough, Edgar Young had taken her aside one day and told her that the prefects were unhappy about her messing up in class and she would have to stop. As if she was _trying_ to fail all her classes. As if she _wanted_ to be rubbish at everything. It made her feel all the worse that she was doing so badly the older students believed that she must be putting some effort into her uselessness.

Then there was the problem of the door knocker. Only three or four weeks into the term, just as it was becoming apparent how very un-Ravenclaw-ish Lyra was, she seemed to have lost the ability to hear the riddles that one had to answer to gain access to the common. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Scorpius, reasoning that they wouldn’t believe her and would just think she didn’t know how to answer the riddles. She thought maybe she was developing a hearing problem, but deep inside she knew why she could no longer hear them — they were for Ravenclaws only, and she didn’t belong there. Unfortunately, she couldn’t always manage to get in on the coattails of the real Ravenclaws, so she had spent quite a few nights wandering the castle, trying to avoid notice of the patrolling teachers. Once she had been found, on the night when an Ashwinder was set loose in Gryffindor Tower by an untended magical fire and all the prefects and teachers were out of bed searching the castle for the eggs. The teachers had sent her back to the common room with a prefect, so she had gotten some sleep that night, but not before taking even more points from Ravenclaw. The Ashwinder eggs, she heard, were never found, but nothing so far had caught fire so the general consensus was that something must have destroyed the fire-snake before it could lay them.

She had been getting better at getting into the common room early, although she occasionally had to skip dinner when the exhaustion became too much for her. Usually she just stuck close to Scorpius or, failing that, a Ravenclaw prefect, but that evening she had retreated to the relative privacy of the first floor girls’ bathroom. The only other occupant, a ghost known as Moaning Myrtle, had at first been happy to have someone to share her misery with, but eventually became annoyed by the first year girl crying over her own problems and not paying sufficient attention to the cruelty of Olive Hornby, and had threatened to find a teacher if Lyra didn’t leave. So now she was, as usual, wandering around the corridors, jumping at every sound and trying not to wake the sleeping portraits.

Finally finding a portion of corridor far away enough from any occupied paintings that she felt safe to yawn, Lyra slumped against the wall, rubbing her eyes. _I should just go home_ , she thought miserably, although she didn’t want to be at home, not right now. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought. _I should want to go home. I’m sure Mum could use my help, if I wasn’t just in the way_ _…_ Her eyes began to well up with tears and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from sobbing. Loud weeping would definitely attract attention.

She stared at the ground for a moment, forcing herself to breathe evenly, then suddenly she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Looking up, she found herself face to face with the pearly-white figure of the Grey Lady. Lyra’s mouth was already forming a plea for silence when the ghost raised a finger to her lips. The figure then glided a little way down the corridor before turning back to look at the first year. _Come along_ , her expression seemed to say.

Lyra hesitated, then got unsteadily to her feet and began to walk after the ghost. Satisfied, the Grey Lady turned back around and continued along the corridor towards the staircase. Lyra followed at a slight distance, not sure where the ghost was leading her but hoping it wasn’t the headmistress’s office.

When they arrived at the third floor just opposite the entrance to the library, Lyra hung back,  sure that the ghost had led her to the clutches of the terrifying Madam Pince. The Grey Lady turned back to stare at her with a questioning look. Lyra peered around the darkened library and realised that however protective of it she was, the librarian did not actually live amongst the shelves.  Nervously, Lyra stepped into the library and followed the ghost as she floated down an aisle towards the History section, getting farther and farther into the labyrinth of bookshelves. Lyra didn’t notice the route they took, only that they passed the section on magical creatures and turned right at an enormous case filled with huge books which seemed to concern themselves with wizarding law. Finally, they came to what Lyra would have guessed was the close to the farthest point of the library, and the Grey Lady floated straight through the bookshelf facing them.

“Wait!” Lyra cried out on impulse, before clamping her mouth shut as she heard the word echo through the silent library. She tried to go around the shelf to follow but only found more shelves blocking her way. Panicking, she darted back to where the ghost had disappeared, hoping to see her re-emerge and show her how to follow, but the pearly-white figure had vanished.

Nearly on the verge of tears again, Lyra pressed against the bookshelf to make sure it wasn’t a rotating one or a hidden gate like the one at King’s Cross, but had no luck. She was almost about to sit down and cry, house points be damned, when she noticed something very strange on the bookshelf in front of her. What on earth was J.R.R. Tolkien’s _The Hobbit_ doing in Hogwarts Library? She had never seen anything resembling fiction there before, let alone Muggle fiction. The surrounding books were on the thrilling topic of magical plumbing.

Lyra reached out pull the book off the shelf — perhaps it had been left there by accident by a fellow Muggleborn student — but her fingers came down on something that felt more like a piano key. She felt the book depress slightly into the shelf and the whole bookcase slid aside, revealing a narrow entryway. Peering inside, Lyra expected to find the Grey Lady waiting, but instead discovered that there was an _entire room_ behind the bookcase. She stepped inside and jumped when the door slid closed behind her, but there was a latch on the inside and Lyra was relieved to find that she could get out with ease.

Closing the door again, she looked at the room properly. It was small but cosy, cheerfully lit by a large bronze lamp which was sitting on a writing desk that had several books piled up on it. Lyra moved closer to examine the titles — they all seemed to have something to do with Hogwarts and its founders, whoever had been there last must have been a fan — when she noticed the true blessing of the room: a small bed just on the other side of the desk, freshly made up with the same kind of sky blue eiderdown and bronze-coloured sheets as her bed in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

She collapsed onto the bed, overcome with relief and gratitude, when she noticed the inlayed crest on the corner of the writing desk: the Ravenclaw eagle. The sheets were not just for her benefit then — this room belonged to their house somehow. She felt pinpricks of grateful tears in her eyes. Her terrible schoolwork hadn’t doomed her then, not completely. The house ghost, who must have seen hundreds of students passing through the school, still thought that she belonged in Ravenclaw.

Lyra pulled off her shoes and climbed into the bed, snuggling down into the fresh sheets and soft pillow. Soon she was asleep, dreaming of bookshelves and mazes and pearly-white figures with strangely kind smiles.

* * *

 

The next morning, Lyra woke to find sunlight playing around the edges of curtains above her bed. She sat up, rather stiff and sweaty after sleeping in her clothes, and pulled open the curtains to find that the secret room had its own version of the common room’s arched windows, only this one had at its centre a small stained-glass Ravenclaw crest. She ran her fingers along the edges of the glass pieces, wondering who had made it. It looked almost as though it had been installed in the past few decades, although she supposed it might have been magically preserved to look new.

Beyond the pane of the window, the sun was just making its way above the horizon. Realising that she had to leave before Madam Pince arrived or she’d be stuck in there all morning, Lyra remade the bed quickly, took a look around to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, then slid back the door and went out into the main library. The bookshelf slid into place behind her.

Fortunately, she made it to the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower just as a pair of early risers emerged, so she darted past them into the common room and headed down to her dormitory. Pulling out fresh robes from her trunk as quietly as she could so as not to wake her sleeping dorm-mates, Lyra then tiptoed into the bathroom to shower and put on her clean clothes. By the time the others were getting up, Lyra had got dressed, rumpled her bedclothes a bit to make them look slept-in, and taken her book bag up to the common room, where she sat down in an armchair and took out her Charms textbook to see if it made any more sense after a decent night’s sleep.

Things seemed to look a little less bleak by daylight, and Lyra almost felt she had her head around the seven basic properties of Charmed objects when she heard two people arguing loudly in the stairwell from the first and second year dormitories.

“Honestly, you’re being ridiculous. I was only trying to _help_ , for goodness’ sake!”

“Help? You call telling someone to shut up just because you know the textbook off by heart and they don’t _helping?_ ”

“Only so she wouldn’t keep making a target of herself. Maybe if she kept her head down—”

“What, you’d find it even easier to ignore her? Did you even notice that she didn’t come to dinner? I haven’t seen her since Defence yesterday. I swear, Weasley, if—”

“What, if she’s been eaten by a Basilisk? I admit that I didn’t see her come back to the common room last night, Malfoy, but her bed’s been slept in, she obviously came back at some point. Look!”

Lyra looked up to see Rose Weasley and Scorpius entering the common room, Rose pointing in her direction. She caught a glimpse of Scorpius’s worried expression before it turned to relief and he bounded up to her, ignoring an “I told you so” from Rose.

“Sorry I wasn’t at dinner last night,” Lyra said before he could speak. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“You weren’t up here either, though,” Scorpius pointed out, looking concerned.

“I found something in the library, got distracted,” she half-lied, with a brief glance at the red-haired girl loitering nearby. She wasn’t about to tell him she had spent the evening crying in the first floor bathroom, particularly not with Rose Weasley in earshot. Having been accosted by her after Defence Against the Dark Arts and told it would be better for everyone if she just stopped answering questions was humiliating enough — Lyra wasn’t going to let everyone in the common room know how much it had upset her.

Scorpius, thankfully, seemed to get the message. “Well, better then than tonight. It’s the Hallowe’en feast this evening, I’ve heard it’s brilliant.”

“I suppose Hallowe’en isn’t a great tradition where we don’t have to go to classes?” Lyra suggested hopefully.

“No, but remember we’re starting proper magic in Charms today. We’ll actually be levitating things rather than just learning about why we might want to levitate things, and what it would be called if we were arrested for it.”

“I might be arrested on my first attempt, spells never go right for me.”

“Come off it, you’re better at Transfiguration than me. And who managed beetle-to-button before anyone else?”

“You’re mad! One nearly took my nose off! Professor Shafiq had to repair the ceiling!”

Scorpius grinned. “Still buttons.”

“ _And_ when he got them out of the ceiling, they still had legs!”

“So? It took me ages to even get mine round. Besides, we’re supposed to be starting with feathers today; what are you going to do, tickle someone to death?”

* * *

 

_WHAM!_

Professor Flitwick nearly fell off the pile of books he was standing on as the desk hit the ceiling, then came crashing back down, eliciting shrieks of alarm from the nearby students. He hurried over to where the students seated at the flying desk had been knocked into the wall, mercifully unscathed.

The perpetrator of the botched spell was not hard to guess. Of the two Ravenclaw students sprawled on the floor, it was the tiny brown-haired girl who had developed a reputation amongst the teachers for being something of a walking disaster. Her friend, the ordinarily rather quiet Scorpius Malfoy, took one look at the desk-shaped dent in the ceiling above them and burst into laughter. Lyra Jones simply leaned back against the wall with closed eyes, looking very much as though she wished the earth would swallow her.

“Miss Jones? Mr Malfoy? Are you both alright?” asked Flitwick. He was becoming concerned by the increasing hysterical note in the boy’s laughter, prompted further by one of their feathers drifting slowly down from the ceiling to settle in front of them.

“It’s my fault, Professor Flitwick. I’m really sorry.” Lyra sounded a little tearful. Flitwick did not have a habit of punishing students for botched spellwork under most circumstances, and her obvious distress told him this was not a time to make an exception.

“Never mind that, Miss Jones,” he told her. “Are you quite alright?”

“I… I think so. Maybe if I could just sit here for a bit?”

Perhaps she thought the floor would have an easier time swallowing her if she didn’t move around, Flitwick thought wryly. Nonetheless, he gave his assent and turned to Scorpius, who had thankfully quieted down. “Mr Malfoy?”

“Sorry, Professor,” the blond boy said, struggling to his feet. He was still grinning madly, and the other students were staring at him.

“You’re bonkers,” Andy Roald-Hiskers told him. “Real, proper bonkers.”

Thom Pierce opened his mouth to comment but Flitwick called for the class’s attention before they could speak. “Has anyone had any luck with their feathers?” he asked. Isobel Arthurs’s hand shot up as usual, but he was pleased to find several other volunteers as well. He nodded to a Gryffindor girl, Elin Haksar. “If you could give us a demonstration, Miss Haksar?” Isobel lowered her hand, looking put out.

Elin took a deep breath and pointed her wand towards the feather in front of her. “ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” she said loudly, with a quite competent swish-and-flick of her wand — Flitwick was pleased, he had seen her jabbing rather wildly at it earlier — and the feather started to move in the general direction of the ceiling, lurching and swinging wildly, causing the students to giggle and stare. Elin kept trying to compensate for its movements with her wand, which only sent it swinging in the other direction; a few moments later, she lost control of it altogether and the feather fluttered to the ground.

“Not great luck you’ve had there,” Flitwick heard one of the students say in a low voice, although he couldn’t identify which one. He had an unpleasant feeling it was one of his Ravenclaws.

Elin was blushing furiously. “I had it before!” she protested to no one in particular. Flitwick smiled brightly at her.

“That was quite good progress for your first lesson, Miss Haksar,” he told her cheerfully. “Take three points for Gryffindor! Now, I want you all to practise your levitation charms for next lesson, so remember: swish and flick! I’ll see you all on Friday, or perhaps I’ll spot you at the feast tonight — I hope you’ll all enjoy your first Hallowe’en at Hogwarts,” he added, looking forward to their reactions to the decorations in the Great Hall. The Charmwork there might not be the stuff of legend, but it brought a good deal of happiness to the school and that was more than enough for Professor Flitwick.

Elin thanked him on the way out and promised again that she _had_ been doing better before, she didn’t know what had gone wrong, but Flitwick assured her she had done just fine. He then fixed the dented ceiling and battered desk with a single wave of his wand. Just as Flitwick was moving behind his desk to fetch some marking he needed to do for his fifth year class, he saw Scorpius helping Lyra to her feet.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” the blond boy told her. “It was just—”

“I know,” she replied, with a faint smile. “And you thought I couldn’t do any more damage to school property.”

“Maybe you should practise your homework outside,” Isobel Arthurs said from a few desks away. “We don’t want to have to get the dormitory replaced before we can go to bed.”

It might have been intended as a good-natured joke, but something in the girl’s tone told Flitwick otherwise. She had already left by the time he got around the desk to tell her off, so he made a mental note to speak to her about how to treat her classmates next lesson and returned to his task. He opened the drawer he kept his marking in and was taking out the Hufflepuff-Slytherin class’s assignments — a quick glance over the first one suggested it was most definitely a D, although perhaps he could round it up to a P, that young man had been trying a great deal more this term, but no, he had to be honest, perhaps he could offer him tutoring, though he hadn’t done any in years and if he started with a student in their OWL year it might be seen as favouritism — when he heard another voice, loud and sneering.

“Well, you won’t be able to help her, Malfoy, you might see a feather flying and wet yourself. Guess you’re stuck as a walking disaster, Jones — you only ever get anywhere when Malfoy helps you cheat.”

“Mister Nichols!” The boy blanched when he saw Professor Flitwick emerge from behind the desk. “I won’t tolerate that kind of attitude in my class! Three points from Ravenclaw!”

Lyra sent Flitwick a look of relief. Rupert Nichols scowled darkly at her.

“Why isn’t she losing points? She’s the one who messed up a simple spell.”

Professor Flitwick always tried to avoid favouritism towards his students, but he had to admit that he disliked Rupert Nichols. The boy was a natural at most of his classes, particularly Transfiguration, but he had little talent in Charms and so didn’t seem to see the point in trying in Flitwick’s class. “Well then, Mister Nichols, if you find it so easy, you won’t mind performing a perfect Levitation Charm at the beginning of our next lesson, will you?” Their next class being in three days time, it wouldn’t leave him long to practise, particularly as he had spent most of the lesson talking to his friend, Thom Pierce, who had actually been trying to cast the spell. “And I think I’ll see you for detention this Saturday, if that’s how you behave towards your fellow students!”

Rupert’s scowl deepened but he said nothing, just nodded before stalking out of the classroom with one last glare at Lyra. Glancing at Flitwick and seemingly realising he really wasn’t going to punish her, Lyra grabbed Scorpius by the strap of his book bag and dragged him out of the classroom before Flitwick could say a word — or change his mind.

* * *

 

“Aren’t you coming to the feast?” Scorpius asked. Lyra had barricaded herself between two bookshelves, her Charms notes in her lap, _The Standard Book of Spells – Grade 1_ balanced on one armrest and _Magical Theory_ on the other. She glanced up, looking distressed.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong!” she said miserably. “I did everything the textbook said to do, and what Professor Flitwick told us, and I followed all the rules in this,” she waved _Magical Theory_ at him, accidentally knocking the other book onto the floor, “and I still couldn’t do it right. What’s _wrong_ with me?”

Scorpius didn’t know what to say to her — he had about as much idea of why Lyra’s spells so often turned disastrous as she did. But saying _I don’t know_ would sound like he thought there _was_ something wrong with her, and he didn’t want to say that. Instead he picked up her copy of _The Standard Book of Spells_ and placed it on the table. “Come to the feast,” he suggested. “Come on, you need a break.”

“Says the one who isn’t destroying classrooms all the time,” she mumbled grouchily, but then sighed and collected up her books and notes. “I’ll just put this stuff back in the dormitory, all right? Meet you on the landing.”

Hoping she meant it — Lyra had been developing an odd habit of missing meals lately — Scorpius headed towards the door to the common room, only to find Rupert lurking nearby. He hastily walked back to where he was in full view of the other students — some kind soul had taught Rupert the Hedgehog Hex, wherein spines sprouted painfully from the victim’s body, and he had been trying to corner someone to practise it on ever since. Scorpius had spent half a day in the hospital wing the previous week having his arm de-spined, but he had been lucky compared to poor Millie Tirnblüd, who had taken the main force of the spell and had spent the better part of a week under Madam Pomfrey’s care. They hadn’t seen who had hexed them at the time, but Rupert was already bragging by the time Scorpius got back to the common room. Unskilled at hexes and jinxes, Scorpius had settled for filling Rupert’s sneakers with Jelly Slugs. It was petty vengeance, but when Lyra told Millie the story of Rupert’s scream of disgust carrying all the way to the girl’s dormitory, it seemed to cheer her up significantly.

After a minute or two, Lyra reappeared. “Sorry,” she said — he wasn’t sure what for, but the more nervous she was, the more apologetic she became, so Scorpius guessed it was just the result of a stressful day. She quickly spotted Rupert too, so they waited until they could walk out behind a pair of third years, who were debating the value of Divination as a branch of magic. Rupert noticed their oblivious escort and reluctantly remained in the common room — he was probably waiting for Thom, Scorpius thought.

When they finally arrived at the Great Hall, Flitwick was waiting at the door, handing out tiny pumpkins carved into miniature jack-o’-lanterns which, when fed a sweet, came out with some of the corniest Hallowe’en jokes Scorpius had ever heard. Lyra was delighted with hers — “I shall call him Will,” she declared fondly — and was so distracted by it that she almost didn’t notice the decorations until Scorpius elbowed her. Live bats fluttered across the ceiling, dodging the lazily twisting orange and purple streamers and bright silver will-o’-the-wisps. The dark sky of the ceiling was cloudless, bright stars twinkling in it like the flickering flames of the candles that were bobbing gently around the room. More impressive still was the food — students were already tucking into any number of Hallowe’en themed dishes, and several others that seemed to be there for no other reason than to ensure it looked like the most delicious buffet the two first years had ever seen.

Scorpius and Lyra quickly took seats at the Ravenclaw table, a little further off from where they usually sat and closer to the seventh-year prefects, as Katherine Tredwell, who usually stopped Isobel and Rupert from bothering them, was nowhere to be seen. Soon the two of them were piling their plates high with food as the students around them chatted about everything from the upcoming Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match to the OWLs and NEWTs the fifth and seventh years would be taking at the end of the year. Ji-Hye was always interesting to listen to; she was fascinated with the history of wandlore and usually had brilliant stories about wand-making traditions around the world. Tonight, the topic was cherrywood wands — her father had owned one when he went to on exchange to Japan, Ji-Hye was saying, and although he was from a wizarding family in his native Korea, he’d had no idea the wood was held in such high esteem until his stay there. One of the other seventh years asked her what she was planning to do after leaving Hogwarts — set up a wand shop next to Ollivander’s and drive him out of business, perhaps?

“Oh no, Mr Ollivander is brilliant — you’ve just got to know what to ask. Actually, I’m going to visit some Russian wandmakers after NEWTs,” she added excitedly. “Then I’ve been invited by Winnifred Erkins — you know, the historian — to help her examine some wands they found in these ancient burial mounds in South Wales; then there’s the Annual Bowtruckle Migration Conference — I’ve never been able to go before, it’s always during exams.”

“I’m glad you know what you want to do,” Craig McKinley said glumly. “I’ve got no idea. Maybe I should fail my NEWTs on purpose and repeat seventh year to stall for time.”

“You’ll find something, Craig, it’s not like— Oh!”

Scorpius looked up in the direction Ji-Hye was pointing and saw a stream of pearly-white ghosts floating through the ceiling of the Great Hall, each paired with another and spinning lazily together under the starry ceiling like a ballroom dance in slow-motion. There were cries of amazement from the younger students as almost every ghost in the castle came dancing into the hall, some embracing like old sweethearts, others looking largely weary. The Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, seemed to be muttering about dignity as he drifted past, hands linked with the decidedly cheerier Fat Friar.

“I don’t see the Grey Lady anywhere,” Lyra said, sounding concerned.

“Maybe it’s not her sort of party,” Scorpius replied, watching a young girl ghost he’d never seen before floating above them with her partner, complaining loudly about how she was prevented from ruining someone named Olive’s wedding dance. “I can’t see the Bloody Baron here either, after all.”

Lyra snorted loudly and Scorpius laughed — he couldn’t really picture the sinister Slytherin ghost dancing. Suddenly, the main courses disappeared and were replaced by puddings, tarts, and the largest variety of sweets he had ever seen. Some he recognised from the samples the prefects had brought back from Honeydukes, some he knew already (Over at the Slytherin table, Millie Tirnblüd caught his eye and held up a bowl of jelly slugs, grinning), and others he had never encountered before.

He was midway through adding an ominously colourful selection of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans to his date pudding when a shriek sounded from above them.

In seconds, it had become a chorus of screams — the ghosts had stopped dancing and were warping and collapsing in the air, all with wide open mouths emitting endless screams of pain and horror. The teacher’s table was in disarray as the professors tried to somehow help the ghosts or silence the screaming; others were rushing down to the students’ tables, trying to calm them as the screams continued in a tortured drone above their heads.

As suddenly as it had started, the screaming stopped. Abruptly the ghosts were in motion again, many fleeing through the nearest wall, others sinking down to the floor and resting there. The Fat Friar lay in a half-faint, drifting above the Hufflepuff table.

There was a moment of horrified silence. Before it could turn to panic, Professor McGonagall took charge. “All of you, stay calm. Prefects, please escort your houses back to their common rooms; professors, stay with me.”

In a moment the hall was filled with movement, and Scorpius and Lyra had barely stood up before they were being crushed towards the doors. Craig McKinley managed to pull both of them from the crowd before they were trampled; next to him, Ji-Hye raised her wand and conjured a swarm of little blue lights, which clustered above her head. “Ravenclaws, follow Ji-Hye!” Craig bellowed. “Follow the lights!”

A glowing green serpent appeared a few metres away above the crowd, and Scorpius heard a girl’s voice calling for the Slytherins to follow her. He didn’t see if the other two houses took up the idea, as he was struggling to keep up with the prefects and the blue lights fluttering above them. Lyra grabbed his hand tightly and pulled him after them; he noticed absently that she had Will the mini jack-o’-lantern tucked under her other arm. Just as they reached the doors, Rose and Meghan struggled out of the crowd behind them, and for once Scorpius was relieved to see them. Ji-Hye took a head count after they got out into the entrance hall, and they waited for a few minutes while the remaining Ravenclaws made their way out of the chaotic Great Hall. Jay and Imogen appeared, pulling a pair of fascinated third years away from the strange spectacle. Finally there were enough of the students accounted for, and they made their way quickly back to Ravenclaw Tower. Scorpius was glad the prefects could answer riddles under pressure, because he was sure if it had been up to him, the whole house would have been waiting outside for an hour while he wrung his hands over what a boggart fears most.

What looked like the entirety of Ravenclaw house crowded into the common room. Scorpius and Lyra squeezed onto a couch with the pair of third-years they had followed out earlier. Ji-Hye, Craig, and the other prefects were trying to calm everyone down, and fielding unanswerable questions like “What the hell just happened?” and “Are the ghosts all right?”.

“Look, ghosts are already dead,” Craig replied to the latter question. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

But he looked anxious too — all of the prefects did, even Edgar Young. Katherine was still missing, Scorpius realised, but before he could become too worried the Common Room door opened and Katherine entered along with a few stragglers and Professor Flitwick. At the appearance of their head of house, the questions increased tenfold. The Charms-master took a seat in an armchair and called for silence.

When he finally found his order obeyed, Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. “As I’m sure most of you know, there has just been a most… baffling incident that disrupted our Hallowe’en feast. I am pleased to inform you that the ghosts affected by it appear to be unharmed, although after many centuries of having no true sensation, this abrupt onset of pain has left many of them very disturbed. At the moment we have not discovered the source of this incident, however the headmistress has sent an owl to the Ministry this evening. We will most likely be hosting members of the Spirit Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in coming weeks, and I urge you all to be as co-operative as possible in helping their investigation.” He gave them a weak smile. “Now, I seem to recall we were interrupted in the middle of puddings.”

They finished off the feast in Ravenclaw Tower, but for a long time after the plates had vanished few of them left the common room. The usual array of theories began to emerge amongst those students who were talking, dancing along the line between genius and madness, but all in all the group were surprisingly quiet. When people finally did start heading off to their dormitories, it was with a strange feeling of dread. When the dead screamed, what did it mean for the living?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual plot stuff! Who knew? As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which is a day early because I may not have access to l'internet tomorrow. Also, I've changed the commenting from Archive users only to moderated comments, so if y'all don't have an account and you want to let me know what you thought (or if there are any typos or spelling errors I've missed that are driving you mad), now you can. I'm keeping it on moderated mainly to avoid drive-by douchebaggery or automated comments trying to sell penis enlargement kits. I'm not going to censor anyone's comments just for being critical.
> 
> We're also getting into the part of the fic where possible triggery things may crop up. It's all fairly mild, and I'll do my best to tag them and put warnings in the chapter summaries, but if you spot something that you think might be an issue that isn't tagged, just let me know.
> 
> Next time: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!


	8. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> QUIDDITCH, QUIDDITCH, QUIDDITCH!
> 
> Warning: Canon-typical violence.

There was an uncomfortable atmosphere in the castle over the next week, and the majority of the ghosts were nowhere to be seen. A pair of wizards from the Spirit Division had arrived on the Wednesday after Halloween, but aside from their presence at meals, there was no evidence they were even there and no one was quite sure exactly what they were doing to investigate the incident. Still focused on what had happened to the ghosts, the first-year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors found themselves completely out of sorts in their next practical Charms class, and it had taken all of the double period for Professor Flitwick to bring them back to the level they had been at on Tuesday morning. The day before that, their usual practical Potions lesson had been postponed so Professor Kirtle could give them a very long lecture on the uses of snake fangs in Britain versus mainland Europe, but seeing as she was yawning a mile a minute and kept accidentally calling the blunt-nosed viper the blood-nosed sniper, it might not have been purely for their benefit.

Despite this atmosphere of unease, the excitement surrounding the start of the school Quidditch season was building. On the morning of the Saturday of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match, Rose headed down to the Quidditch pitch with Albus and Elin in tow. Officially, their reason for heading down early was to wish Albus’s brother and their cousins good luck; secretly, Rose was just glad to be out of the castle. It seemed bizarre that the castle being _less_ haunted would make her so edgy, but it did.

Elin and Albus didn’t seem nearly as worried as she was. Currently they were trailing behind her, discussing their mock-Quidditch games in Flying Lessons and how much they both detested Liana Flint, a Slytherin girl whose idea of playing Quidditch seemed to involve ‘accidentally’ ramming into other players so that they fell off their brooms.

“I was _so close_ to scoring the other day,” Ellie was saying, “and then out of nowhere — _WHAM!_ I got knocked so hard I dropped the Quaffle and Jasper grabbed it.”

“At least Mr Wood saw her that time and gave her detention,” Albus replied. “I hope he makes her scrub bedpans or something like that.” Rose winced at the thought. Liana must be even more awful than she had thought if even Albus wished ill on her. Al hardly ever held grudges.

They reached the Quidditch pitch to find James and Dominique were already flying, weaving between the hoops down either end. James spotted his brother and flew down to meet them, Dominique following suit. “Come to watch us play?” he asked as he dismounted, grinning. “You’re early, we’re just warming up.”

“Showing off is more like it,” Rose shot back as Dom landed next to James.

“We came to wish you good luck,” Albus replied.

“You’ll definitely beat Slytherin,” Ellie added, showing them her Gryffindor flag. It had a scarlet background with an embroidered gold lion on it that roared when the flag was waved. Rose wasn’t quite clear on who had made it, only that one of the older Gryffindors had been giving them out over the past few days.

Dom smiled at Ellie. “Absolutely,” she said proudly. “We’ve got a great offense, don’t we, James? And Slytherin’s beaters are pretty slow.”

James frowned a little. “Well, Cosette’s not — you know, Cosette Rosier, in the year above us? She took over from Lucent Vance for Slytherin’s final match last season. You were in detention, Dom, but she’s like hell on a broomstick. But Rowle flies like a troll, so it’ll be okay.” He gave the three first-years a winning smile.

“Well, good luck anyway,” Rose said.

“Thanks,” said Dom. “Don’t go talk to Vicky, she’ll bite your head off, but Fred’s just coming out of the change-rooms now if you want to wish him luck.” She pointed to a figure on the other side of the pitch, then she and James took off again.

Rose, Albus, and Ellie headed off in the direction of the figure, only to find he was leaning against the stands, looking faintly ill. The group hesitated.

“I think I’ll stay back here,” Ellie said nervously. “I don’t know your cousin Fred very well, and he kind of looks upset.”

Albus looked uncomfortable. He knew Fred well enough to like him, but they weren’t particularly close. Rose, on the other hand, was almost as close to Fred and his sister Roxie as she was to Albus and his siblings — their dads had spent several years running Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes together before hers rejoined the Auror office. “You can wait here with Ellie,” Rose told him, a touch exasperated, before turning and walking over to where Fred was staring into space.

“You all right, Fred?” she asked, and he started.

“Oh, it’s you, Rosie,” he said, trying to smile and failing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just feeling a bit tense before the match.”

“Are you worried about the ghosts too?” It seemed to be worrying everyone, but Fred looked surprised at the suggestion.

“N-no— Well, I mean, yes, of course I’m worried.” Fred ran a hand through his curly dark hair, looking anxious. “I wasn’t actually at the feast ‘cause I felt a bit sick after Potions, but it sounds pretty awful. But no, I was just thinking about Dad.”

 _Of course_ , Rose thought. Over the summer, Uncle George had been walking back from the store late at night when he was accosted by two Dementors that had found their way to Diagon Alley. Aurors had arrived in time to repel them, but Rose had overheard her dad telling her mum that Uncle George has almost been Kissed.

Out loud, she said, “Uncle George will be fine, he’s probably brushing up on his Patronus right now—”

“Dad can’t cast a Patronus, Rosie,” Fred said quietly.

“What?” Rose blurted out. It was Ministry policy that as many people as possible learn the Patronus Charm, seeing as the Dementors were no longer under their control. There were free classes you could go to for practice and everything. She had never considered the possibility that her uncle, who was one of the most capable wizards she knew, couldn’t perform it.

“He doesn’t talk about it much,” Fred continued. “But it’s because of, well, the first Fred. His twin.”

His twin, who had died in the very castle they lived in for the whole school year. Rose was struck by inspiration. “Fred — the other Fred — didn’t become a ghost, did he?”

But Fred the younger shook his head. “No, he — moved on. But whenever he, Dad, I mean, whenever he gets too close to a Dementor, he sees Fred. He sees him die. And he can’t see anything else.” Fred gave a deep, shuddering sigh, and Rose squeezed his hand. He smiled faintly at her. “You won’t tell anybody about this, will you, Rosie?”

“’Course not,” she replied, and quite suddenly pulled him into a hug. Fred laughed in surprise. “Good luck for the match, Fred!”

“I’ll do my best,” he told her, grinning. “You’d better be waving a Gryffindor flag when our match against Ravenclaw comes around.”

Rose laughed, too relieved to see her cousin smiling again to be worried by the prospect of the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match. She said goodbye to Fred before running off to join Albus and Elin in the stands. James and Dominique had landed and were walking back into the changing rooms with Fred, evidently so they could make an entrance with the rest of the team. The other students were already filling up the stands as Rose made her way to where Albus and Ellie were sitting.

“So what was up with Fred?” Albus asked as she sat down. He looked a little guilty about not having gone to check on their cousin with her.

“Nothing much, just worried about the ghosts,” Rose lied smoothly. She sat down next to Albus and pulled a Potions textbook out of her bag. Albus stared at her.

“You’re not going to _read_ through the match, are you?” he demanded.

Rose felt her ears heat up, and knew they were going red under her hair. “Of course not. I just wanted to do a bit of revision while we were waiting for it to start.” In truth, she had been taking Potions books around with her everywhere for the past few weeks, determined as she was to beat Scorpius in his best class. He wasn’t making it easy for her, however: half the books she took out from the library already had his name on the borrowing slip. She eyed the neat little ‘S. Malfoy’ with distaste before turning to the chapter on Memory potions.

She was only halfway through the first paragraph, however, when someone with a megaphone started calling out over the pitch. “WELCOME LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WITCHES AND WIZARDS, TO THE FIRST MATCH OF THE HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH SEASON!” The crowd of students cheered. Squinting at the figure at the top of the stands, Rose recognised Felix, James’s dorm-mate and close friend. With a mop of scraggly brown hair and small squinty eyes, Felix had a lumbering sort of look about him that gave the impression of a very large, stupid grizzly bear — though Dominique insisted that he really had more in common with the teddy variety. Rose wasn’t sure about that part, but she did know he wasn’t really as slow as he looked — particularly not when it came to remembering Quidditch facts. She hadn’t heard of him commentating the Quidditch matches before; maybe this was the first time?

If it was, then the teachers seemed to be taking his exuberant style in their stride. Rose thought she saw the Headmistress roll her eyes when Felix shouted, “ARE YOU READY TO WATCH SOME QUIDDITCH?!” but otherwise everyone seemed happy to respond with liberal cheers and applause, despite or perhaps _because_ he was acting like this was a Muggle wrestling match.

As the players marched out onto the pitch, Felix seemed to decide that the teams were not such celebrities that they needed no introductions, although thankfully at a slightly lower decibel. “And here comes the Gryffindor team, led by none other than Seeker and Captain Victoire Weasley! Following her are Beaters Isaac Huxley and Robert Finch-Fletchley, along with Keeper Fred Weasley — get used to that name, people, you’ll be hearing a lot of it — and Chasers Evelyn Harris, Dominique Weasley, and James Potter!”

There were cheers from the Gryffindor end of the pitch, along with a few catcalls, although Rose could tell neither where they were from nor who they were direct at. The Gryffindor team were meeting the Slytherins in the middle of the pitch. Under the gaze of Mr Wood, who was refereeing, Victoire shook hands with a broad-shouldered boy around her age.

“And on the Slytherin side, we have Keeper and Captain Caleb Blackthorne, Beaters, uh, Daniel? No, Damien. We have Beaters Damien Rowle and Cosette Rosier— THE SNITCH HAS BEEN RELEASED!” Felix had been so busy trying to remember everyone’s names he had almost missed the start of the match. Before he could list anyone else, the Bludgers whizzed out of the trunk and Mr Wood tossed the Quaffle into the air. “Gryffindor in possession! That’s Harris there with the Quaffle, she scored over half the Gryffindor goals last year — THERE’S A BLUDGER! — Good job, Evie, missed you by a mile, Harris passes to Potter, Potter passes to Weasley — Dom, I mean, not— WEASLEY SHOOTS — Blocked by Blackthorne!” The Slytherin supporters cheered as several Gryffindors sighed in disappointment. “Slytherin in possession now, with Chaser Darcy deVerre passing to…”

Rose let the sound of Felix’s commentary wash over her with the shouts and cheers of the crowd. Her Potions book lay forgotten in her lap; her eyes were fixed on the Quaffle, currently tucked under the arm of a dark-haired Slytherin Chaser who was streaming towards the Gryffindor goalposts, soaring around a Bludger aimed at her by Huxley and elbowing past Finch-Fletchley with nothing short of glee. She feinted towards the left goal – Fred flew right, not falling for it – and she tossed the Quaffle almost lazily through the centre hoop. The Slytherins cheered down the other end of the stands while the people around Rose groaned.

Gryffindor was back in possession: James passed to Evie Harris — an academic underachiever who coasted along on her popularity according to Molly, who shared a dorm with her; the best Chaser they’d had in years if you believed Fred. Rose was more inclined to trust Fred’s judgement at the moment. Evie raced across the pitch like a witch-shaped bullet, swerving around bludgers and other players alike. Dom and James were keeping up with her, but she took the shot this time — “GRYFFINDOR SCORES!” Rose stood up so fast she knocked the Potions book off her lap, but she was too busy cheering to notice.

One of the other Slytherin Chasers took possession this time. Rose barely had time to wonder if this William Ollivander was any relation of the wizard who ran Ollivander’s wand shop before a Bludger flew right at him, causing him to drop the Quaffle right into Evie Harris’s waiting arms. “Good aim, Huxley!” Felix shouted enthusiastically as Harris took off towards the Slytherin hoops, Ollivander in hot pursuit. She was almost to the scoring circle when she had to swerve violently downwards to avoid a Bludger, though she kept the Quaffle in hand by the tips of her fingers. She was busy trying to adjust her grip when she was caught off guard by a second Bludger and was thrown from her broom. Victoire and Robert both sped down to catch her, but by the time they managed to pull her onto Robert’s broom the Slytherin Chasers were over halfway down the pitch, the Slytherin beaters circling around them. Rose saw the girl Beater laughing as she blocked the Bludger sent by Isaac Huxley. “YOU DIRTY— I mean, good aim, Rosier,” Felix amended when the Headmistress sent a disapproving look his way.

With half their team down the end of the pitch and most of the Slytherin team headed straight for them, things did not look good for Fred and Isaac, but the Keeper waited in front of the centre hoop, a determined look on his face. The Slytherins were cheering, shouting, screaming; the Gryffindors were bellowing at Fred to block the goal; and out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw James speeding up behind the three Slytherin Chasers.

DeVerre and Ollivander were flanking the third Chaser, whose name, if Felix were saying it, Rose couldn’t hear over the crowd around her. The boy looked more like a mountain on a broomstick, and didn’t seem to bother dodging much — when Huxley, bereft of any Bludgers to hit, flew down in the hopes of slowing them, the centre Chaser barrelled right into him, sending the Gryffindor Beater rolling off to the side where he crashed into Damien Rowle. The giant boy reached the scoring circle, raised the Quaffle to shoot…

James shot out from beneath them and up where the boy had been aiming. The Slytherin boy tried to re-aim and fumbled the throw, not by much — but enough that Fred easily caught the Quaffle and tossed it to James, who was down the pitch like a shot. Evie Harris was back on her own broom and flew at Blackthorne like she was about to throw something through the right hoop; in his moment of distraction, James punted the Quaffle through the unprotected left goal.

The Gryffindor side exploded into cheers that quickly turned to gasps of horror as Darcy deVerre rammed into James’s broomstick — he was left clinging to his broomstick by one leg, dangling upside-down as Oliver Wood blew a whistle and called loudly for a penalty shot to Gryffindor. Dom ignored Wood’s offer to take the shot and flew up to help James back on his broom; Evie Harris flew forward instead and managed to sneak the Quaffle past Caleb Blackthorne and into the centre hoop. The Gryffindor cheers masked Rose’s shout of warning — she had seen the Rosier girl flying towards a Bludger, aiming for James and Dominique; Victoire was flying forward to intercept her, but Rosier was too close already; James and Dom were oblivious as Victoire leaned almost flat against her broom, almost catching up with Rosier—

Then the Slytherin side broke into enormous applause and abruptly the game was over. The blonde Slytherin Seeker was descending from far above the pitch, one hand guiding her broomstick while the other was held aloft, clutching something shining gold.

Cosette Rosier had noticed their victory in time to pull up instead of hitting the Bludger, and Victoire slowed behind her and met the rest of her defeated team on the ground. Immediately, Dominique and Victoire started arguing — only then did it occur to Rose that Victoire was their Seeker and should have been marking Niamh — the Slytherin Seeker’s name was being chanted loudly by the crowd — instead of looking out for Dom and James. The thrill of the match was quickly replaced by a feeling of discontent as Rose watched Dom throw her broom to the ground and stomp off towards the change rooms. It hit her hard that Dom and James had just lost their very first match.

She felt someone poke her hard on the shoulder — Albus was pressing her Potions book onto her, looking anxious. “Come on, we have to see if James is okay.” On his other side, Elin was hastily stowing away her flag — probably for the best, Rose thought. A number of students were eyeing theirs bitterly, as though it were the flags’ fault that they had lost the match.

It was a struggle to get down to the pitch through the crowd. By the time they managed to make their way to where Oliver Wood was checking on James, a crowd of Slytherins had hoisted Niamh onto their shoulders and were carrying her around the pitch.

“I’m fine,” James called out to them as they approached, but they were already close enough to see his leg was at a strange angle and the foot he’d hooked around his broom looked like it must be dislocated. Wood looked grim.

“Madam Pomfrey will be able to fix you up — but she might kill me first,” he told James, looking as though he expected the matron to pounce on him from any direction.

Victoire was there too, along with Evie Harris and the two Beaters, Isaac Huxley and Robert Finch-Fletchley. Evie was fuming. “I’m going to kill Darcy,” she said fiercely, watching the Slytherin team being congratulated by their housemates. “Attacking James was completely out of order, even for her.”

Isaac nodded sagely. “She was just angry that you stopped Nott from scoring, James. That was a nice move, by the way.”

James grinned weakly up at them from the ground. Albus edged forward towards his brother, and upon noticing him James’s smile gained a bit more strength. “I bet you’ll be trying out for Quidditch next year, Al,” he said mischievously. “You could be Seeker when Vicky’s gone, they always get the worst injuries.”

Albus looked a little petrified and started stammering something about not rushing into things when he realised his brother was laughing. “He’s fine,” Albus said darkly.

Wood made a sound like a wounded mouse: he had spotted Madam Pomfrey sweeping across the Quidditch pitch like a vengeful goddess of the hospital wing. Rose, Albus, and Elin took that to be the sign for their exit and joined the crowd of students leaving the pitch. Aimée and her sister Genevieve were in front of them; Genevieve, as was her way, was complaining loudly.

“Eet was not eeven eenteresting, all zis flying around and zen zome girl caught a leetle gold ball and eet eez over! I do not zee what it eez you like about zis game, Aimée.”

“I told you before, the Snitch is worth so much because it is so hard to catch. I have a book on the history of Quidditch, if you would like to read it,” Aimée offered her older sister. They were only born something like ten months apart, but it was enough that Aimée had spent the last six years in England with her father, while their mother and Genevieve lived in some Parisian magical enclave.  As a French urbanite, Genevieve had very little contact with the most popular Wizarding sport, and Aimée was fond of detailing her efforts to convert her.

Some of the other Gryffindor first years were looking glum, particularly a dark-blonde girl Rose vaguely recognised as being the person who had been Sorted after her, who brushed past them with a half-hearted, “Sorry.”

“Cammie?” Ellie called after her, but the girl had already disappeared into the crowd. Ellie frowned after her, and Albus looked disconcerted.

“I could’ve sworn she was crying,” Albus said to Rose and Ellie in a low voice. “But she can’t be taking it that hard, it’s only the first match…”

“Blubbering, is she?” came a voice from behind them.

Rose turned to find two first years wearing green and silver rosettes on their robes, both smirking. It was the girl who had spoken: she was pale and dark-haired, with blue-grey eyes beneath high arched eyebrows. Her companion was a tanned, green-eyed boy with short light brown hair and a pug-like nose, who towered over the rest of the first years — Jasper Parkinson, Rose remembered from the times he had been called on in class. The girl was a little harder to place, as Rose knew most of the Slytherins’ names from class only and her long black hair made the girl rather anonymous from behind, but thinking back to the Sorting ceremony, she realised that this girl must be the Liana Flint that Albus and Ellie had been talking about.

“What did you say to her?” Ellie demanded, but the two Slytherins just laughed.

“She’s like a Squib,” Liana said, sneering in the direction Cammie had gone. “Pretending to know all about Quidditch and who’ll win — what’s she playing at, everyone knows she’s a Mudblood.”

Rose felt like she had been slapped in the face. What in Merlin’s name did this girl think gave her the right to go around using that word, the one that had been _carved_ into Rose’s mother’s arm? She went for her wand, trying to think of the worst spells she knew — she didn’t know many curses or hexes, but surely she could improvise something — but before she could draw it there was a cold voice saying “Excuse me” from behind the two Slytherins. A red-haired girl appeared, also in Slytherin colours, but Liana and Jasper didn’t seem pleased to see her. She didn’t seem too keen on them, either, judging by the look she gave Liana and her next words: “You might not want to go throwing that word around, Flint. Professor Shafiq might give you detention as a practise target for Transfiguration.”

“Shafiq’s not here,” said Jasper, his brazen tone somewhat undermined by his quick anxious look over his shoulder.

“He’s back at the pitch,” Liana added scornfully. “So you can’t go running off telling him how _mean_ we’re being, Bones, he won’t believe you.”

“He’ll believe all four of us,” Albus said, looking determined.

“And Cammie,” Ellie added.

Rose nodded. “I bet your head of house would _love_ to hear about what you said to upset her.”

Jasper looked down his upturned nose at them — it was easier for him than most, given that he was so tall he almost had to do it anyway just to look at them. “How brave of you Gryffindors, going running to a teacher. Is your founder turning in his grave yet?”

The red-haired Slytherin’s eyes narrowed. “How ambitious of you, Jasper, picking on a girl half your size. Do you think Salazar would be proud?”

“What would you know, you pathetic—” But Liana never finished her sentence, as Madam Pomfrey came bustling through, levitating a stretcher with James on it. She was closely followed by Oliver Wood, who was looking rather browbeaten, and Professor Shafiq, who had two sulky-looking Slytherin fifth-years by the elbows. Jasper, suddenly losing his confidence, pulled the glaring Liana away from Rose and the others and into the crowd before their head of house caught sight of them. Shafiq cast an eye over the remaining group as he walked past, but seemed to notice nothing of interest, leaving Rose, Albus, and Elin alone with the red-haired Slytherin.

“You might want to find Cammie,” the girl said after a moment of awkward silence. “I don’t know what Liana told her, but she has a gift for getting under people’s skin.”

“Oh, right, yeah…” Ellie said, looking startled, but the expression was gone in an instant, replaced by a look of concern and determination. “I think I know where she’s headed, Al, come on.” The two of them raced off towards the castle, and Rose had almost turned to chase after them before she realised that Ellie’s invitation had not included her. She stopped mid-sprint and tried to make it look like she had been aiming for a spry skip of some kind, so that the red-haired girl would not think that she was chasing after them when she wasn’t wanted.

Thankfully, if the other girl noticed Rose’s awkward hop-skip manoeuvre, she didn’t let on, simply falling into step with her when she had returned to a regular gait. “Rose, isn’t it?” she asked politely.

Rose, who had been trying to force her ears to cool down — she knew they would be as red as her hair — looked up sharply. “Yes,” she said, a little blunter than intended, then added hastily, “You’re Eleanor Bones, aren’t you?”

The girl nodded. They continued walking in silence until Eleanor said, not unkindly, “If you’re wondering how I’m related to Professor Bones, she’s my mother. And,” she added wryly, “yes, I do think she’d be fully prepared to fail me. Possibly more prepared than necessary.”

Rose smiled at that. It reminded her of James complaining about the general lack of nepotism when it came to being Harry Potter’s son who had known most of the teachers since he was a small child. Apparently, they were even harsher towards him because they believed he was being favoured elsewhere — or at least, that was James’s story.

“I hope James is alright. The Gryffindor Chaser, I mean — he’s my cousin.”

“I know,” Eleanor replied. “Mum was in the DA, she knows his dad. He gives guest classes for Defence Against the Dark Arts sometimes.”

Rose started. “The DA? As in Dumbledore’s Army?” Eleanor nodded. “Mum and Dad never mentioned… Wait, is she _Susan_ Bones?”

“That’s her. She’s on the cursed list and everything.”

“Jinxed,” Rose corrected coldly.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and silence resumed until they were nearly at the entrance hall. “So, you’re the first in your family in Ravenclaw?”

“Yes,” Rose replied. She still felt irritable at the other girl for bringing up the jinxed DA list — it was one of the few things about her mother’s past that made her deeply uneasy. “Are you the first Slytherin in yours?”

To her surprise, Eleanor looked away, frowning. “Yep.”

“So…” Rose remembered that Professor Bones was the Hufflepuff head of house. “Are they all Hufflepuffs?”

“Mainly,” Eleanor replied, sounding despondent. “Some were Gryffindors or Ravenclaws, but never Slytherin. Anyway, they all died before I was born. Mum and I are all that’s left.”

Rose wondered for a moment if Eleanor was lamenting the loss of the pureblood line and made a non-committal "Mmm..." in reply. If she thought this was an insensitive reaction, Eleanor didn't comment. Instead, she continued on the topic of her house.

"Mum reckons Professor Shafiq is the best head of house Slytherin's had in ages — Slughorn's nice, but he picked favourites. You'd never guess this was his first year as head of Slytherin, would you?"

"Professor Shafiq?" Rose asked, surprised. "I mean, I knew Professor Slughorn left last year, Professor Kirtle told us. I didn't know he was head of house all the way up to retirement, though."

"Well, Professor Shafiq was helping Professor Slughorn most of last year — they didn't get on at first, Shafiq wouldn't be lenient with some of Slughorn's pet students — but by the end of it they seemed to be friends. Of course, it helped that Shafiq was absolutely right about Doncaster selling Doxy eggs to students."

All this was said in the most plain, conversational tone, as though it was quite normal for her to know such things. Rose looked at the Slytherin girl curiously.

"Does Professor Bones tell you all this?" she asked, a little sceptically.

Eleanor looked surprised. "Mum? No, she never tells me much about her work, aside from thinking Professor Shafiq is a good teacher. We live in Hogsmeade, though, so I usually find out from Rosmerta. She's the eyes and ears of the village," she confided, a little wryly.

Rose's curiosity was piqued, but they had reached the foot of the staircase where a nervous-looking girl in Slytherin robes was waiting. "Eleanor," she said anxiously, "do you have your Potions notes from yesterday? Could I maybe borrow them?"

"Sure, Millie," Eleanor replied. "But I don't think your notes are bad, you just mixed up the porcupine quills with the snake fangs, that's all. I could look them over for you, if you like?" she suggested.

"That would be great," Millie replied, with an air of immense relief. Eleanor bid Rose goodbye and the two Slytherins headed off in the direction of the dungeon.

Rose considered going to find Albus and Ellie, but they would probably be in Gryffindor Tower by now. She had yet to convince Al to give her the password, despite the fact she had told him about the door knocker and its riddles. Besides, post-match commiserations were probably unwelcome at the moment.

For a moment, she stood indecisively at the foot of the staircase, and then slowly started to walk up, thinking of going to the library, or perhaps back to her own common room. She was only halfway up when she heard the voices coming from somewhere above her.

"I don't know what you're so worried about," a girl said, sounding bored. "It isn't that scary."

A male voice that Rose thought she recognised replied, "It's not scary, it's bloody dangerous! This whole thing is a ridiculous idea."

"So you want to abandon it already?" The girl sounded sceptical.

"I didn't say that," the boy replied reluctantly. "We just... We just need to be more careful or we'll be found out."

"I'll keep it in mind." The voices fell silent.

Rose had nearly reached the top of the staircase when Darcy deVerre turned the corner and nearly tripped over her. "Sorry," Darcy said vaguely, looking distracted. Rose stumbled past her, mind whirring. Darcy was up to something bad, that was obvious. But who was the boy?

The answer came almost immediately as she turned the corner and found Fred climbing a staircase, the only person there. "Hey Rosie," he said when he noticed her, a little downcast but still the same voice that was so familiar. "James is going to be fine. Don’t worry about Slytherin. Darcy's going to be sorry, I swear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you to everybody who has left kudos or bookmarked the fic, it means a lot to know people are enjoying this. You guys are awesome!
> 
> Next time: Someone's got their ectoplasm in a twist, but why?
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!


	9. Unforeseen Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mainly about ghosts. Warnings for mildly gruesome spell depiction, medical malpractice.

Astronomy was Scorpius's worst subject, and it would have been his least favourite if he hadn't liked the class so much. He didn't really have a gift for rote learning: he learned through practice, and there wasn't much one could do with stars than memorise their names. Still, it was a very peaceful sort of lesson, and though he was certain to regret it when exams came, for the time being he was content to squint through his telescope at what he thought was probably the star they were learning about and let Professor Sinistra's quiet voice wash over him.

Currently she was answering the age old question that students were so fond of: What was the point? Why did they need to know where stars were to do magic?

"Heavenly movements," Sinistra explain, "have long been tied to the intricacies of magic. As first years I doubt you have been set any potion that requires to be brewed at a certain phase of the moon, or asked to cast enchantments that produce their best effects when certain stars are shining, but there are many. Almost all of the most complex and powerful potions require celestial consultation. Most permanent enchantments are applied only at the time of year when the right stars are in the sky. The planetary movements affect the growth of many magical plants, and certain magical creatures respond to the lunar phases — take the Moon Calf, for instance."

"And there's Astrology, of course," Aimée piped up.

"That is more Professor Trelawney's area," replied Professor Sinistra, sounding dubious. "But as you can see, Astronomy is an essential subject if you wish to achieve success in advanced magic — and there is much to learn, so be glad you start early. Miss Jones?"

Next to Scorpius, Lyra had tentatively raised her hand. "Aren't stars supposed to be ridiculously far away, though? So far away that plenty of them have actually blown up and gone but we're still seeing their light now because it takes so long to get here?"

A couple of people snickered, but Professor Sinistra looked pleased. "There is a great deal we can learn from Muggle astronomers," she said. "It is entirely possible that it is the light of a particular star, rather than the star itself, that affects magical properties. After all, the star is still there — or may still be there, as you rightly say — when we cannot see it, but its effects are not."

They had Astronomy with only their own house, so Scorpius and Lyra were not sitting far from Rose, Isobel, and Aimée, who was looking miffed. As such, they heard Rose make a disparaging sound before saying, "Really, Aimée? Divination is such  _rubbish_."

"It is not!" Aimée replied hotly. "Your famous uncle only managed to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named because of a prophecy."

Professor Sinistra shushed at them. Rose kept silent until Sinistra turned away to explain the significance of a particular constellation, then whispered scornfully, "He Who Must Not... You really call him that?"

Scorpius turned to look at them, frowning. He had thought Aimée and Rose were friends, and though Rose had a tendency towards harshness, he hadn't heard her be so _rude_  before.

Aimée went pink. "That's what all the adults call him."

"So? They got into the habit when he was alive. Tom Riddle is _dead_ , Aimée," Rose said loudly.

Scorpius wasn't the only one watching them now. Professor Sinistra stopped mid-sentence and turned towards the two girls. "Miss Weasley and Miss deLacey, a point from Ravenclaw each for talking in class. You can continue your conversation in your own time."

Rose, who Scorpius could not recall ever losing a house point, went the same shade of red as her hair. Aimée looked like she might cry, and threw a glare at Rose before turning back to her telescope. Isobel, on Aimée left side, was looking furious.

Scorpius hastily looked away from the three girls. According to Lyra, tensions had been higher than usual in their dormitory in the lead up to the end of the first term. Several teachers had decided to give them particularly difficult spells or tasks to master before they left for Christmas, and Isobel and Rose had come into conflict when Professor Shafiq had assigned them and a few other students a different task from the rest of the class, as they were already ahead. Aimée had, naturally, was upset that she had not been thought good enough for this 'special task' — unlike Scorpius, who was struggling enough with making his cobweb into anything resembling a doily and had no interest in trying to make a matching sugar bowl from the disgruntled spider. Meghan couldn't give two figs about Transfiguration assignments, but it was a matter of pride to her that she show up Isobel in the promised Herbology 'challenge' Professor Longbottom had set for them and they had not been on speaking terms all week. Lyra herself had taken to hiding out in the boys’ dormitory when the tension became too much to bear.

The boys, in contrast, were paying very little attention to each other at all. Rupert and Thom seemed to have come to terms with sharing a dorm with the son of a Death Eater, at least for the moment. Andy was oblivious to the frantic increase in homework, focusing instead on the upcoming Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. As usual, Steve was spending all his time in the library, though the last time he had met Lyra in the boys' dormitory he had recommended a book on Wizarding influences on Muggle fantasy fiction to her, which she devoured with a speed Scorpius had not realised she was capable of.

At the moment, Lyra looked very glad to have chosen the space on Scorpius's right side, which was further from the three girls. The class finished and they packed away their telescopes in silence. It didn't last, however: as they stepped tiredly out into the staircase, Isobel cornered Rose and Aimée. "What do you two think you're doing?" she demanded in a hushed voice.

Scorpius felt a small hand close around his wrist. "Let's go," Lyra whispered, looking over her shoulder at the three girls. He nodded and they quickly made their way down the spiral staircase and into the corridor, narrowly avoiding the Bloody Baron, who wandered up the Astronomy Tower just as they rounded the corner, his back to them. He had been more active than usual lately, scaring students at every turn and barely lifting a finger to stop Peeves's antics. The poltergeist had been unaffected by the incident at the Hallowe'en feast, but this seemed to be because he was not really a ghost. The Baron's foul mood was certainly a result of the incident.

"Have they been like that all week?" Scorpius asked quietly as they walked towards Ravenclaw Tower. It always felt strangely eerie walking back from Astronomy: the castle was so silent and empty at night.

"Longer," Lyra replied softly. "Isobel's been going on about how she won't be able to face her parents if she doesn't come top of the year. That got Rose on her high horse in no time."

"I wonder what—" Scorpius began, but suddenly Lyra ran ahead of him.

"Wait, please!"

"Lyra!" Scorpius ran after her and turned the corner, finally catching up to find her face to face with a ghost he recognised, with a start, as the Grey Lady.

"I haven't seen you," Lyra was saying, "I wanted to thank you. Did you- did you get hurt? At Hallowe'en?"

The Grey Lady looked as though she wouldn't reply, but after a tense moment she inclined her head, then spoke, her voice soft and cold. "We are the soul of Hogwarts. Always we have been allowed to roam freely through its halls. Now..." Her eyes narrowed. "Rooms are hidden. Secrets are kept from us. We are under attack and yet they have blinded us." Her eyes moved to an area just over Scorpius's shoulder. "Spies are everywhere."

Both of them turned around to find Rose Weasley trying to hide behind the corner, pale and wide-eyed. Ice seemed to swell in Scorpius's veins and then a moment later was gone: the Grey Lady had floated past them and away through the ceiling.

Rose, to her credit, did managed to look guilty. "I wasn't following you," she said quickly. "I was just trying to avoid the Bloody Baron, and then Peeves was down the other corridor... What did you think she meant, secrets being kept from the ghosts?"

"Clearly you can't stand having anything kept from you," Lyra replied coldly. "So what if you were avoiding Peeves? That doesn't mean you have to snoop around and listen to people's conversations."

Rose crossed her arms, huffing. "The Grey Lady's the Ravenclaw ghost, not your personal spirit guide," she said snippily.

"She was talking to _me_ ," Lyra replied, her voice a touch higher than usual.

Scorpius had no idea how Lyra knew the Grey Lady, but he did think Rose was talking rubbish. "Do you think everything belongs to you?" he asked incredulously. "You can't even stand the thought of your own friends doing well if it means they beat you!"

"Don't you talk to me about entitlement, Malfoy, your family is founded on thinking you're better than everyone—"

Scorpius was about to retort but Lyra beat him to it. "Yeah, Scorpius's family is pureblood," Lyra said frankly. "But you know who gives me a hard time about being Muggleborn? About not knowing how magical things work? Isobel and Rupert and _you!_ "

Rose looked stunned. "Lyra, I—"

"So don't you dare go throwing 'he's a pureblood' around like it makes you better than him! He's not a Death Eater and _you're not a hero!_ "

If Lyra had pulled out her wand and cursed her, Rose couldn't have looked more horrified. Scorpius was rather stunned himself, but he didn't have time to stare — Lyra had already turned and was walking away. For a moment he stood, rather awkwardly, opposite Rose, then hurried to catch up with Lyra, leaving the other girl standing there in shock.

* * *

 

They finally arrived at the door to the tower after searching the hallways for the Grey Lady for almost an hour. Scorpius was exhausted: Lyra refused to tell him where or when she had met the Ravenclaw ghost before, but she was equally determined to find her again. It had taken a narrow miss with the trainee Healer Martin Samuels to convince her to return to the tower.

"Who could be hiding something from the ghosts?” Lyra demanded frustratedly. “Professor McGonagall probably could, I suppose, or Professor Flitwick maybe, but _why?_ "

"I can only deal with one riddle this late," Scorpius replied rather tersely, indicating the door-knocker, although he was as baffled as she was. He had never seen a ghost display such clear anger and resentment before. Still, it was probably nearly two in the morning by now and he was desperate to get some sleep before the sun came up.

He knocked, and the eagle asked, " _What stands on any number of feet, except two?_ "

"That's just unfair," he grumbled. "Maybe a spider? They have loads of legs."

" _Knowledge is not wisdom_ ," reprimanded the knocker. The door remained closed.

Scorpius turned to Lyra. "Any ideas?"

She looked alarmed. "Um, could you ask the question again?"

He frowned. "What stands on any number of feet, except two? Do you think it has to do with distances?"

Lyra's eyes lit up. "A chair! Oh wait, feet not legs... Then it must be a cauldron, right?"

“That’s knowledge,” Scorpius pointed out, just as the knocker said, " _Soundly reasoned._ " The door opened.

“What about knowledge?” Lyra asked blankly. Scorpius shook his head, grumbling, and they both entered.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Lyra took every opportunity to go looking for the Grey Lady, but always returned disappointed. Scorpius, who felt rather guilty about having been snappish with her after she had defended him, came with her the first few times, but it came as a great relief when she suggested that it might be best if she went alone. The other ghosts continued to behave coldly, even the Fat Friar, who huffed disapprovingly every time he passed a teacher. Peeves ran riot over the halls, and though most of the older teachers had little trouble repelling him during classes, not everyone was so experienced in keeping him out. The morning of the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff match, Scorpius passed by the Potions classroom and found the room in disarray, a distraught Professor Kirtle standing in front of the revolving bookshelf, which had been jammed open with a pile of chairs.

"Oh, Merlin," Kirtle sighed, leaning heavily on the bookshelf.

"Was it Peeves?" Scorpius asked.

She looked around, startled. "Pardon?" she asked, her mismatched eyes wild. "Oh, was it Peeves? Yes, I-I think so, I just came to find some papers. Why aren't you at the match? I thought Ravenclaw were playing today."

Scorpius couldn't meet her eye as he said vaguely, "Oh, I don't really like Quidditch. What about you?"

"I usually only go if my house is playing. I have a lot of homework to mark these days." Professor Kirtle made her way tentatively through the upended tables, stools, and cauldrons towards her desk. Scorpius followed her, righting some of the furniture as he went. Peeves had certainly done a thorough job, he realised as he narrowly avoided a cauldron stand that dropped from the ceiling.

"You were in Gryffindor?" he asked, realising the implication of her words. He had always thought of her as a Hufflepuff-type, or possibly a Ravenclaw.

She looked surprised. "Oh no, I was a Slytherin. I know it's hard to see it now, but I used to want to do great things." She bent to retrieve a cauldron, but her voice had a hint of sadness in it — and shame. "Not that I don't think teaching is important — teaching at Hogwarts was the best thing that ever happened to me. But I never fought for it. Never cheat, Scorpius Malfoy," she said, and he could see her face again — she was smiling a little, though wryly. "You'll spend your whole life wondering whether you're good enough for what you've got."

"You are," Scorpius said before he could stop himself. He could feel his face turning red, but was compelled to keep going. "You're a really good teacher."

"I'm glad you think so. It's my first year as the only Potions teacher. Horace — Professor Slughorn to you — was head of Potions before, I only taught half of the classes. It's been a big change."

"Is teaching hard?" Scorpius asked curiously. Professor Kirtle laughed.

"Yes — although how difficult depends thoroughly on the students. You're a natural Potioneer, for instance, so I don't have to worry too much except to make sure you don't get bored. Your friend Lyra, on the other hand—"

"She's not that bad!" Scorpius objected.

Kirtle looked surprised. "I know she's not. She tries, which is more than I can say for some. It's just that she's has more trouble than you or some of the others do, so I have to keep a close eye on her so I can help her when she needs it. Millicent's a bit like that — she's in the other first year class. Her notes are meticulous but actually brewing potions makes her so nervous she'll knock half of her ingredients over before she gets started. So those kinds keep you on your toes. A few of my fifth-years — I shan't name names, I shouldn't really have mentioned your classmates either —anyway, a few of them just don't care and they're the worst types, because all they do is complain about how they can't wait to give it up. If they plan to pass their OWLs, I don't know how." She righted the last table with a thud.

Outside the window, there was a faint sound of cheering from the Quidditch pitch, and Scorpius turned to see several blurry flying dots move towards the ground.

"It looks like the game is over," Kirtle observed. "I suppose your friends are out there watching?"

Scorpius immediately thought of Lyra, who was currently scouring the castle for any sign of the Grey Lady. "Uh, yes. I'd better go meet them, I guess."

"Thanks for helping me tidy up. I'll see you in class," Professor Kirtle replied.

"I'll see you then."

As he left, he thought he heard an odd sound, but the bookshelf had rotated too far and the teacher was out of sight.

* * *

 

It took Scorpius a while to find Lyra, as it hadn’t occurred to him to look for her in the hospital wing. It was only when Millie Tirnblüd told him she had seen Lyra being led there by Professor Shafiq that he began to worry. Thanking Millie quickly, he made his way to the hospital wing, wondering if he could feign an illness if Madam Pomfrey was in one of her ‘visitors are the scourge of the earth’ moods.

When he arrived, however, Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, and almost-Healer Samuels invited him in cheerfully enough. “Somebody’s hit her with a bad jinx,” he told Scorpius quietly. “Professor Shafiq tried to ask her who, but... well, she said she didn’t see.”

Martin sounded dubious, and Scorpius found himself frowning. Why wouldn’t Lyra tell Shafiq if she knew who had attacked her?

The thought was driven out of his mind by the state Lyra was in. Ugly green pustules were swollen all down one side of her body, and as he approached the bed one on her face popped violently — the contents hissed as it spread onto her cheek. She made a small groan of pain and reached for the damp cloth next to her with her good hand. It was only when she sat up to wipe the acidic pus off her face that she noticed him standing there. “Hi Scorpius,” she said with a weak smile. “Did you find out who won the match?”

She didn’t care about Quidditch, and he knew she didn’t care about Quidditch, so he ignored the question. “What happened to you?”

She shrugged, and then winced as a pustule on her collarbone popped. Holding the cloth to her neck, she replied, “I was just walking around and got hit by a spell. I didn’t see who did it, but they were probably just playing around. I think I had a bad reaction to the spell, though.”

Scorpius stared at her, before blurting out, “Lyra, that’s a Festering Hex.” She looked blank. “It’s really difficult Dark magic. You’d have to be at least Fifth Year to perform it, even if you’re good at spells, and it’s definitely _not_ in the textbook.”

Lyra frowned at him, trying to use only the healthy half of her face. “How do you know that?”

“Dad’s got a bunch of books on how to treat hexes for when he works with the hospital,” Scorpius explained. “And Aunt Harriet got in a duel once and came to Mum for help, so I've seen it before. Did Mister Samuels give you a Soothing Solution right away or just cast a charm to numb the pain until Madam Pomfrey gets back?”

“He just said to wait it out and wipe up the acidy stuff when they burst. I wish we had aspirin here.”

Something very like anger kindled inside him. He saw that Eva Sandsguard was just entering and, temporarily forgetting that he was just a first year and Samuels was both an adult and over halfway through his training as a healer, marched up to her to ask, "Why didn't Mister Samuels realise that Lyra's been hexed?"

Eva was surprised but followed him over to Lyra's bed. "Ouch," she said appreciatively when she saw the patient. "That doesn't look like another potion spill."

"It was a spell," Scorpius told her. "Someone attacked her."

Eva frowned. "Lyra, do you remember anything from when the spell hit you?"

"Um..." Lyra winced as another pustule broke open. "It was really cold, and then my skin got really hot and the boils started growing. Mister Samuels said he thought it was a jinx."

"A jinx? That looks like Plague or Festering Hex to me. I'll check with Martin about what he thinks, but we should get that treated or it will scar."

She strode over to Martin Samuels on the other side of the room. Scorpius watched as Eva gestured towards Lyra, then looked shocked at the reply. Scorpius couldn't hear what they were saying until Eva all but shouted, "What is WRONG with you?!" and strode over to the Potions cupboard, leaving Martin looking baffled.

A moment later, Eva reemerged with a large jar of pale blue goop and stomped back to Lyra's bed. "Is that 'Soothing Solution'?" Lyra asked.

Eva shook her head. "Something a little stronger than that. These pustules are a bit too far along."

"Was Mister Samuels wrong about it being a jinx?" Scorpius asked innocently.

Eva scowled. "I don't know what's got into him. He knew what it was, but he thought you," she nodded towards Lyra, "were _lying_ about not knowing who cast it, so he thought it would be a good idea _not_ to treat you until your memory improved."

"But—" Lyra said, staring at her. "But I _didn't_ see them! I didn't!"

"It doesn't matter if you did or not," Eva said sharply, channelling a little of Madam Pomfrey. "It's _wrong_ not to treat students and that's _not_ how Healers are supposed to work. Don't worry, he won't be doing it again."

She liberally applied the ointment to Lyra's hexed skin and instructed her to rest for a while, informing Scorpius that he would be allowed to stay if he didn't worry anyone. When Eva was out of earshot, Scorpius asked quietly, "Do you really not know who hexed you?"

Lyra shook her head — the ointment was fast-working and the movement didn't break another pustule. "No, I think they were behind me. But I saw something before I was hexed. I left the game early and I was following the Gryffindor ghost, because the ghosts must all be hiding out somewhere, right? So I thought I'd follow him and see if he could lead me to the Grey Lady. Well, we came to this corridor on the third floor, or maybe it was the fourth... Anyway, he noticed me following him and tried to disappear through the ceiling — _but he couldn't get through._ "


	10. Chapter 9 & 3/4: Writing Home

_Hi Mum,_

 

_Sorry for not sending this sooner, there was a snowstorm here for the past few days that I didn't want Marple to fly in. Isobel (one of the girls in my dormitory) thought I was being stupid but her poor owl came back with icicles on it, so I think I did the right thing keeping Marple inside. She's up in the Owlery at the moment, with the school owls. She likes it better there because Rose's monster cat lives in the dormitory and tries to bully her. Rose says that Marple's the bad one because she pecked at Charlie the Menace in self-defence the other day, but even she doesn't really believe that._

_I don't know if my letter about Quidditch was very clear, but the important things to know are that: A) It's a sport (with flying broomsticks), 2) Everyone takes it_ **_really_ ** _seriously. The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff game on the weekend was brutal. Both of the fifth year prefects play for our team, but I only knew about Jay, who plays Seeker (he tries to catch a tiny flying gold ball before the other team's Seeker does). It turns out that Imogen (the other prefect) is one of the Beaters. I won't tell you what Beaters do because you'll just worry, but you don't need to because I don't play Quidditch. Anyway, Ravenclaw won which apparently means that we're currently tied with Slytherin, or close to. (I think it runs on points, but I can't remember the score. Scorpius is much better with numbers than me but he didn't come to the match so I sat with Katherine Tredwell, who's the sixth year prefect. She's really nice.)_

_Classes are all right. Professor Shafiq gives loads of homework, but if a bunch of people do badly at one thing, he doesn't tell us off, he just goes over the subject again so we understand, which is good. I think I'm starting to get Transfiguration, at least a little bit. I'm okay at most other things, except flying, because we play (safe) Quidditch all the time and you know I'm rubbish at sport. Becka and Scorpius and me all sit together in the stands and do homework. Becka's in Hufflepuff and she's shy but nice — and sometimes she's really funny too. Most people don't notice, though. She's very quiet, not like Jenny, her twin. I know I used to say I wanted a sister, but now I don't know if I'd have liked it much._

_I asked Katherine and it's fine for me to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. There are already decorations going up around the school, and apparently there are usually lots of big Christmas trees brought in from the forest, decorated with_ **_real fairies!_ ** _I've heard the ghosts usually sing carols, but after Halloween they've been really upset and we barely see them._

 _I hope you have enough help in the store. One thing you'd like about witches and wizards is the lack of interest in ebooks. If it's not half a ton and properly bound, it isn't considered a book. There doesn't seem to be much fiction in the library though. Autobiographies are a good substitute, especially these ones about a guy named Gilderoy Lockhart. I got told he never really did any of it, but it doesn't matter much. He's a good writer, even if there was a whole chapter on magical hair products in_ **_Wanderings with Werewolves_ ** _._

_Have a good Christmas and don't worry too much._

_Love,_

_Lyra_

 

She tried signing the letter with a fancy _L_ like Gilderoy Lockhart's signature, but ended up having to cross that attempt out and write her name normally. In addition to being a frighteningly good Beater, Imogen also ran a black market in ball point pens, which had done Lyra's handwriting a lot of good, but they weren't great for flourishes. Folding up the letter and resisting the urge to use the secret room's supply of sealing wax on it, she tied the paper in a ribbon so she could attach it to her owl's leg.

It was early in the morning; having been unable to gain access to the common room the night before, Lyra had sneaked into the secret room in the library and slept a bit there, before waking up and writing her regular letter to her mother. She carefully neglected to mention her visit to the hospital wing, that she had not actually been to the Quidditch game, and the fact that she was probably failing everything, given her mum had enough worries at the moment. She would find out eventually, of course. Lyra's mother had a talent for that. Lyra herself could only wish to have inherited her detective skills. She and Scorpius had so far been unable to rediscover the place where Nearly Headless Nick had been unable to pass, mainly because most ceilings in the corridors looked the same and they didn’t have a ghost on hand to test them with. She also hadn’t had any luck finding the Grey Lady, though she was still looking.

The biggest problem with using the library room was Madam Pince. She did not, despite all appearances, actually sleep at her desk, but she did arrive at some ungodly hour every morning to scour the shelves for out-of-place books. Lyra managed to make her way out of the library without being seen, but Peeves the poltergeist noticed her in the hall outside and immediately started calling joyfully, "Oi PINCE-EE! There's a _student_ in the _library!_ "

Lyra didn't know whether being up at the crack of dawn counted as being out of bed at night, but seeing as Madam Pince loathed nothing more than dirty students in her library, she didn't risk it, instead running as fast as she could away from Peeves and in the direction of the Owlery.

She reached the top of a staircase and collapsed against the wall, panting. She stood there for a minute to catch her breath and smoothed out the letter, which had becoming rather crumpled, before climbing the last part of the staircase to the Owlery. The acrid smell preceded the sound of hooting and screeching, and both came many steps before she arrived at the top of the tower.

Marple, a squat-looking female tawny owl, was sleeping on the far side of the room, and Lyra was halfway to her when she realised that she wasn't alone. Leaning over a balcony was a tall, redhaired girl wearing a Gryffindor scarf. At first Lyra thought it might be one of Rose's cousins — a lot of them had red hair, although Lyra struggled to remember which one was which — before she realised that she did in fact know the girl. She had been in Ravenclaw Tower maybe a week ago, much to the chagrin of Edgar Young, who had demanded that she leave immediately; Katherine Tredwell, who she had been talking to, had replied, "Merva answered the riddle, Edgar. Anyone who can do that is allowed into the tower."

Lyra thought she ought to cough or something to let the older girl know she was there, but before she could, Merva called out and took a step back just in time for an enormous screech owl to swoop in through the window. It dropped a letter into her hand and then, unburdened, swooped right out again.

"That owl was in a hurry," Lyra said, wide-eyed. It hadn't even stopped for a drink, let alone a reply.

Merva looked up sharply. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Lyra blinked in surprise and held up the letter. "Writing home."

The older girl hastily shoved the letter into her book bag and ran a hand through her long red hair, agitated. "You should be sending letters at night, not before breakfast. Owls aren't meant to fly during the day. It's a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy."

"Oh." Lyra felt her face going red. "Oh, sorry, I'll send it tonight."

"Good plan. I hope you haven't been sending daylight post to any heavily populated Muggle areas." Merva gave her a suspicious look and Lyra knew that the older girl had guessed she had been doing just that. Her cheeks burning and her heart sinking, Lyra made a hasty retreat towards the door, the strange owl forgotten.

 

w

 

Though she neglected to mention why she had been up at such a ridiculous hour, Lyra found some solace in sharing her postal problems with Scorpius, who was always suitably sympathetic as long as you caught him at the right time of day, and in return he shared his own tale of… Well, perhaps not _woe_ , but mild irritation involving Merva the Gryffindor. The day that she had shown up in Ravenclaw Tower to talk to Katherine, she had also unceremoniously booted Scorpius out of his favourite armchair near the window with the claim that he wasn’t allowed to hear what she was about to say.

“Prefect business, she said,” Scorpius was saying with exasperation. They were sitting in the Ravenclaw boys’ dormitory after their last lesson of the day, Defence Against the Dark Arts. “And she’s not even a prefect! I didn’t think she was, but I asked Jenny in Potions anyway to check, and it turns out she’s always bossing people around in Gryffindor too. The real sixth-year prefects do everything she says, apparently.”

Lyra sighed. “I hope she isn’t staying at Hogwarts for Christmas.”

Scorpius raised a pale eyebrow. “Aren’t you going home for Christmas?”

She shook her head. “Mum’s having some trouble with the shop, I’ll only get in the way. Christmas here will be nice, though, even if you’re not here.” She tried to say it brightly enough that he wouldn’t ask further questions, but he was still frowning like being faced with a particularly difficult maths problem.

“It’ll be pretty empty though…” he said anxiously, then suddenly his frown was gone. “I can ask Mum if you can come over for the Christmas holidays, if you like? You could meet our hippogriffs!”

Lyra squirmed. In truth, she had been dreading spending the holiday alone, but the idea of imposing on a family gathering was worse. “I don’t know,” she said, quite honestly. “I… I don’t want to cause your parents any trouble.”

“If it’s too much trouble, they’ll just say no,” Scorpius replied. “It won’t do any harm to ask.”

She could tell he was warming to the idea of having a friend over for Christmas, which was a little odd for someone in a boarding school — apart from the separate dormitories, they had practically lived together since September. Nevertheless, she was starting to like the prospect as well. Scorpius had spent many an afternoon detailing the myriad of creatures that lived at his parents’ home, from the flobberworms his father kept for Potions to the wild winged horses in the forest — his mother thought they might be an unusual crossbreed and often kept an eye out for them. Winged horses — she had to stop herself from outright calling them pegasi — sounded brilliant. And whatever dark shadow lurked over their family name, Scorpius’s parents had always sounded like fascinating people.

“Alright,” she said finally, smiling back at him. “I’ll write to Mum and ask if it would be okay.”

She pulled the letter from her pocket and, using one of her textbooks as a desk, wrote a hasty addition:

_Important PS: My friend Scorpius wants me to stay over at his house over Christmas. He hasn’t asked his parents yet, but if they say yes, would it be all right with you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry for the late posting of this chapter, I've been ill.)


	11. Chapter 10: God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is much Christmassing, some shopping, occasional hippogriff-tending, and a significant amount of wine drinking.
> 
> Warnings: Ominous mentions of the ongoing illness of a canon character; depictions of panic attacks and alcohol consumption; references to intimidation and kidnapping. Not in that order.

A few weeks and two owls bearing parental approval later, Lyra and Scorpius were sitting on the Hogwarts Express once again, this time bound for King's Cross and the Muggle world. They were sharing a compartment with Orpheus Lloyd and Millie Tirnblüd, who were cheerfully swapping tales of the worst Christmas-themed spells that they had ever seen. The third of their Slytherin friends, Eleanor Bones, had avoided having to catch the train home altogether by virtue of living in the nearby village of Hogsmeade.

Scorpius was listing the members of the household for Lyra, who was nervous that she would be crashing some kind of family reunion. "Normally, there's just me and Dad and Mum," he explained. "When I was little, we used to live with my grandparents, but they never got on with Mum, especially Grandfather. Dad took up full-time potioneering and Mum got a job at the Ministry, and a year later we moved out to this place in the country. I didn't like it at first, because I was seven and when you're young you don't like change," he said with the wisdom of the aged. "But I got used to it, especially when we started taking care of lots of different animals. Grandmother and Grandfather don't have many animals except owls; I think they'd be scared of them making everything dirty. Anyway, we've got a load of creatures that Mum's studying or taking care of or who just popped in one day and decided to live with us. Of course, she has to go to work every day but we're connected to the Floo network so..."

Lyra looked at him, curious. "That's not a tellie network, is it?"

"No, it's... Um, you can get to different places through fires with a special powder called Floo powder. But for the fire to work you need to be in the network. The Floo network."

"It sounds a bit like a bunch of people giving each other the flu," Lyra said thoughtfully. "It isn't spelt F-L-U, though, is it?"

For some reason, this remark made Scorpius look rather uncomfortable. "Mum said to tell you..."

"Did you have a brother who died of the flu?" Lyra guessed. Scorpius shook his head.

"No, it's just... My grandparents come over for Christmas dinner," he began awkwardly. "Mum said I should ask you not to talk about a load of Muggle stuff when they're around. Not pretend you're not Muggle-born or anything like that, just maybe don't talk about computers or bookEs or lawnmowers or—"

"Or Pokémon?"

"Or pokey-men," he agreed, adding apologetically, "It's just that they're old and they don't really understand... Muggle stuff like the netweb thing."

That wasn't the reason, of course, and they both knew it. Lyra felt uncomfortable knowing that she, or at least a certain side of her, would not be welcome; but she also knew that Scorpius was just as uncomfortable with the whole thing, and not because he had reservations about her blood-status himself. She had spent too many evenings with him trying to explain how an MP3 player worked and why planes stayed up and what on earth "global warming" was to believe that he was put off by knowledge of Muggle technology. She was sure his awkwardness didn’t come from trying to hide her from his grandparents — in fact, it seemed like it might be the other way around.

"That's alright," she said lightly. "My great-aunt hates the internet and she's not even a witch."

"I got a singing Christmas card once," Millie piped up unexpectedly. They both turned to her, grateful for the interruption. "A Muggle one, I mean. One of our Muggle neighbours was giving them to people. Mummy found it and... She doesn't really know much about Muggles, so she thought Jai had been doing underage magic. She got so mad at her..."

Orpheus frowned. "You sure she hadn't been? I mean, if it's not magic, then how does it sing?"

"It could be an MP3 player," said Scorpius knowledgeably.

Lyra contemplated this. "It's sort of like that, but not quite. It's kind of a chip with a little speaker in it—" She stopped. They were looking at her like she was speaking Icelandic. "It's electric," she explained, in a way that one might normally say, 'It's magic.' There was a collective "Ah" of something that might have passed for understanding.

The train started to slow down, and Millie looked suddenly frightened. "I hope they're there," she said anxiously, almost to herself. "They said they would be..."

They all jumped as the compartment door slid open. A Slytherin girl entered; she looked like she might be a third or fourth year and was otherwise a prettier, tougher-looking version of Millie: pale, green eyed, and with short black hair.

"Mills, you've still got your robes on," said Jai Tirnblüd exasperatedly. Millie went red and hastily pulled off her black robes, revealing the Muggle clothing she was wearing underneath. Jai still looked irritable as she fixed the collar of her sister's shirt, but helped her pull down her trunk to stash away her robes. "I've got Muggle money for a mini-cab if they can't make it," the older girl said and Millie relaxed a little. Clearly Jai was used to her sister's frequent anxieties.

Lyra looked out the window and saw the platform just up ahead, crowded with people. What felt like a horde of bats started flapping about in her stomach. _Nearly there..._

"Bye Lyra, Scorpius," Millie said shyly as Jai locked her trunk for her.

She turned to Orpheus, who abandoned his usual reserve to pull her into a hug. "I'll send you an owl," he told her. Jai watched him closely, looking inscrutable.

The train drew to a stop. After wrestling her trunk down from the rack with the help of Orpheus, who was a good deal taller than her, Lyra peered through the compartment window for anyone who looked like they might be Scorpius's parents, but it was impossible to tell. Scorpius was searching the crowd as well, but just at that moment the train doors opened and students came rushing out onto the platform. They saw Millie and Jai disappear into the crowd and realised that they needed to get moving.

There was no chance to look around when they stepped off the train, as they were quickly pushed forward by the students behind them. Lyra kept Scorpius's blond head in her sight as she followed him to a quiet spot on the far side of the platform. They stopped next to the wall, Scorpius still anxiously searching the crowd.

"Hello there, young wizard," said a woman's voice next to them. Lyra looked up to find a witch with dark red hair beaming down at them.

"Mum!" Scorpius threw his arms around her; his mother laughed and hugged him tightly for a moment before releasing him. "Mum, this is Lyra."

Lyra felt a squirm of nervousness in her stomach, but nonetheless held out her hand and said, "Pleased to meet you."

"And you," replied Mrs Malfoy with a look of approval. "I'm Astoria Malfoy, Scorpius's mother. But you probably already guessed that."

She had, but only by virtue of Scorpius calling her Mum. Otherwise she looked very little like her son, except for something in the shape of her green eyes that matched his grey ones. She was tall and crisply dressed in what Lyra would have expected of a Muggle businesswoman, with her red hair in a tidy bun and what looked like reading glasses tucked neatly into the top pocket of her blouse. She wasn't as pale as Scorpius, and when she shook Lyra's hand her palms felt rough and calloused.

She led them through the crowd with ease, quickly locating a trolley and piling their trunks onto it. "Your father is waiting outside," she told Scorpius as they walked towards the gateway to Platform 9 & 3/4. "We had trouble finding a parking space. Do try to remember to cover Ezyl's cage, Scorpius, you'll attract attention."

Astoria tapped Ezyl's cage with her wand and an opaque cover appeared over it. A portly-looking wizard was directing the families leaving the platform so they didn't all emerge in one go, and soon it was their turn to pass through into Muggle King's Cross Station. The journey out was nowhere near as frightening as running through a wall to get in, but Lyra still stuck close to Scorpius and his mother.

They made their way out of the station to where an inconspicuous silver-grey car was waiting with a blond man in the driver's seat. There was no question that this was Scorpius's father — age and hairstyle aside, they were the spitting image of each other. He got out to help his wife put their trunks in the boot, which was a surprising size for such a small car, and was immediately pulled into a hug by his son.

"Hello, Scorpius," he said warmly, before turning to his friend. "And this is..?"

"I'm Lyra," she supplied readily. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Malfoy."

"Likewise," he replied, and shook her offered hand. Unlike his wife, his skin was smooth and almost cold, but the handshake itself was firm. She couldn't read his expression, but he didn't seem _too_ disturbed by her presence.

The back seat of the car was as suspiciously spacious as the boot, and Lyra was certain magic was involved. A few moments later, Astoria confirmed her theory.

"We don't take the car out often," she told Lyra from the front seat as Mr Malfoy navigated the car out onto the road. "Floo powder is much more efficient for day trips. But it's so useful for carrying luggage and trying to get a fireplace around King's Cross near Christmas is a nightmare. Thank goodness they legalised enchantments on cars, they're usually quite cramped."

Her husband made a disgruntled sound. "Muggles kept asking me to drive them places, as if they don't have their own cars."

"They probably thought you were a mini-cab," Lyra said. "Because you were hanging around outside the station, I mean."

"How big is a normal cab?" Scorpius asked curiously as his father muttered darkly about people mistaking _his_ car for a mini-cab.

They navigated through the London traffic with surprising ease — Lyra again suspected magic, but it might have just been luck. As they turned onto a road heading out into the countryside, Astoria said to her son, "You've been having a bit of trouble with Transfiguration, I hear?"

"Dad wasn't supposed to tell you that!" he protested. His father didn't go red, but Lyra saw what might have been a faint tinge of pink appear on the man's pale face.

"Sorry sweetheart, I just found your letter by accident," Astoria said, sounding a little guilty. "If you need any help while you're at home, though..."

"I'll be okay, Mum," Scorpius replied. "Lyra's good at Transfiguration."

Lyra looked at him like he had gone mad. "I—" she started, but stopped when he sent her a pleading look. Clearly he wanted to earn his Transfiguration mark by himself, even if it was abysmal.

"What house are you in, Lyra?"

She jumped a little — Mr Malfoy had not addressed her since their introduction. "Uh, Ravenclaw," she said, before she could wonder why he was asking.

"Ah." There was a brief silence; Astoria was raising her eyebrows at her husband. "You would be friends with young Rose Weasley, then."

"She's in my dormitory," Lyra replied carefully.

Scorpius had less reservations. "She's awful, Dad. She only ever talks to her cousin or these other snobby girls because only they're smart enough for her, but if any of them are better than her at anything she won't like them until she beats them at it."

To Lyra's surprise, Mr Malfoy broke out into a triumphant smile. "Ha!"

"Draco," Astoria admonished.

"You didn't hear what Weasley said to me the other day! "Your son better not be corrupting Rosie"! As if Scorpius has ever corrupted anyone."

"You don't need to be so gleeful about it," his wife replied, but she was hiding a laugh. "I'm sorry she isn't very nice, Scorpius. I've worked with her mother, she's a brilliant woman."

"Probably doesn't have Rose's brilliant ego," Lyra muttered to Scorpius, who snorted. She could have sworn she saw Draco Malfoy smile.

* * *

The Malfoys' house was a few miles from a sizeable village — all Muggles, Scorpius told her. It was a stately sort of country house, with a dark-tiled roof and ivy creeping up the walls. It backed onto a large forest, and for a moment Lyra thought she saw a pair of skeletal horses standing among the trees, but when she turned back a second later, they were gone.

The car turned down the road into the driveway and in the driver's seat Draco heaved a sigh of relief. "I am not touching this contraption for another month, at least," he declared as they got out of the car.

Scorpius's eyes had lit up as soon as he saw the house. "Mum, how are Arrownose and Nipper?" he asked as they followed her up to the front door.

"You'll see," she said secretively. "We'll take Lyra out to meet them."

"I may excuse myself from that excursion," Draco said, a touch wryly. "I have to check on the Wolfsbane."

Lyra did not have time to wonder what exactly Wolfsbane was, nor why it needed to be checked on, because the moment Astoria opened the door she felt like she was stepping into a zoo. A large, imperious Eagle owl was waiting on a perch near the door, a letter in its beak. Two cats, or possibly small tigers, were stretched out in the sun near one of the windows, while a third watched a small jewel-covered tortoise in a glass tank with covetous eyes. What looked on first inspection like an oven turned out to be a fire full of salamanders. As they entered, the cat that looked like a silver leopard got up and slinked over to Draco to rub against his trouser leg.

"I'll see you at dinner," he told Astoria and Scorpius, sharing a brief kiss with his wife before disappearing through a side door, the silver cat close behind him.

"Come on," Scorpius said, pulling on Lyra's hand. "I'll introduce you to Arrownose."

Scorpius and Astoria led her through the house to the back door, where they replaced their shoes with gumboots before heading out. "They're out in the forest," Astoria told her. "Hippogriffs don't always like humans, Lyra, so stay behind us until we think it's safe, and _don't_ break eye-contact."

The nest was not too far into the forest, a massive construction of branches and rubbish. Waiting in front of it there was an enormous eagle-horse combination that Lyra could only conclude was a hippogriff. Its body was chestnut and its feathers were a shade darker and dusted with gold. The most noticeable feature was its vicious-looking beak, not curved like a normal eagle's but straight and pointing right at them. _Arrownose..._

Astoria bowed solemnly to the hippogriff and Lyra, seeing Scorpius copy her, did the same, but kept her eyes on the creature. It eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then turned back to Astoria and, almost reluctantly, knelt.

Scorpius made to run forward but his mother stopped him. "Gently, sweetheart, they're very nervous at the moment." She walked forward carefully and reached out to pat the hippogriff's nose. Scorpius and Lyra followed her lead, Scorpius ruffling the feathers on Arrownose's neck. "He's really tense," he said, feeling the taut muscles that Lyra could see on the horse part of its neck. "Where's Nipper, Mum?"

"In the nest," Astoria replied. Scorpius's jaw dropped.

"MUM!" Arrownose stepped away from him, making grumbling noises. "Mum," Scorpius repeated in a softer voice, "why didn't you tell me Nipper had her egg?"

Astoria laughed. "It only happened last night, sweetheart. She won't want to see us right now — hippogriffs are very protective when it comes to their eggs," she told Lyra as an aside before turning back to her son. "We'll leave them alone for now; we can see the egg from the ridge."

Leaving Arrownose, they walked in a half-circle around the nest, the path climbing upwards until they came to a small rocky cliff. Looking down from it, they could see inside the nest. There was another hippogriff sitting inside, this one stormcloud grey, and with it something large, round, and shining silver.

"That's the egg," Scorpius whispered to Lyra. "I've only seen an egg once before; they only have it for a day."

"What do you mean, they only have it for a day?" she asked.

"It hatches after a full day," he replied. "That means tonight! Can we watch it, Mum?"

"Maybe," Astoria replied, considering. "I think your father needs your help this afternoon, though."

They left the hippogriffs and their egg and returned to the house, where Astoria and Scorpius showed Lyra the spare room and left her trunk there. Draco emerged briefly to request his son go out and collect some dittany leaves from the small greenhouse at the side of the house. Lyra was quite prepared to help him with the task, but Astoria asked for her help with treating an injured unicorn. Quelling her lingering astonishment that 'Would you mind helping me treat an injured unicorn?' was an ordinary request to hear from a friend's parent, she followed Astoria outside towards a sort of barn half-hidden in the woods. It was a beautiful place, but even that could not dull the awkwardness of being alone with someone she didn't know and who she really didn't want to offend.

"She's a bit shy," Astoria warned before opening the barn door.

The unicorn was much smaller than the hippogriffs, bright-eyed and startling silver, skin moving like mercury over its knobbled bones. Astoria approached the creature slowly and ran a hand down its silvery mane before gently lifting a bandage on its side. She beckoned Lyra forwards.

Beneath the bandage was a deep graze on the unicorn's side, covered in what looked like silver honey. "That's her blood," Astoria said gently.

"Blood? But it's..."

"It gets sticky like that to protect the wound. Hold this, please," she added, handing Lyra an open pot of sweet-smelling ointment. Taking a scoop of the ointment with her fingers, Astoria began to rub it over the wound. The unicorn shivered, but otherwise did not move.

"What happened to her?" Lyra asked, reaching out to stroke the unicorn's neck gently.

"I don't know. She's quite young, so she might have wandered too near Nipper's nest — we call her Nipper for a reason. It's difficult to tell with unicorns — they're wild, and they travel so fast she might have been injured five towns away and only started to feel it by the time she got to this forest."

"Are the hippogriffs wild?"

"Not quite. We cast Disillusionment Charms on them and make sure they're well, but otherwise they tend to do their own thing." Astoria finished applying the ointment and placed a fresh bandage over the wound, tapping it with her wand to secure it. She hesitated in a way very reminiscent of Scorpius. "Pardon me for asking..."

"Scorpius told me about not mentioning Muggle stuff to his grandparents," Lyra said quickly. "It's fine."

"Thank you for that," she replied, sighing a little. "My parents-in-law are rather insular. I hate to accommodate their backwardness but Draco made me promise not to rile them up. But I'm afraid that wasn't what I wanted to ask you. It may seem an odd question, but you haven't been receiving any strange letters, have you?"

The question caught Lyra by surprise. "No," she replied frankly. Astoria didn’t immediately reply, so she explained, "I only get letters from Mum, and they're all pretty normal. Why?"

Astoria looked relieved. "That's good. It was just that Scorpius mentioned in his letters that you seemed rather troubled recently, and working at the Ministry I do hear rather disturbing things sometimes..."

"What kind of disturbing things?" Lyra asked curiously.

Astoria looked uncomfortable, then decided. "You're studying the Wizarding Wars, aren't you?"

Lyra nodded.

The woman sighed and ran a gentle hand through the unicorn's mane. After a pause, she said,  "The Second War broke out when I was around fifteen. My parents and my sister Daphne, they... They were killed during the final battle. I had no other family to turn to. It was a common situation, and for the next two years I and many others lived at Hogwarts year-round. I spent my time studying with Professor McGonagall to become an Animagus, which meant I didn’t have much time to dwell on things."

Lyra wanted to ask what becoming a 'Nanny Magus' meant (it made her think of the witches in Terry Pratchett), but the unicorn butted her hand gently before she could speak. She wondered if unicorns could read minds.

Astoria continued, "When I left Hogwarts, I was lost. The few people who could forgive me for who my parents had been couldn’t fathom the fact I was mourning them despite what they’d died fighting for. I spent maybe a year or two wandering the countryside, then for a while I lived in a little flat in a Muggle town, which is where I began to receive the letters. They were harmless at first, as these things always are. They said they were from an old friend of my mother's, a Sylvia Nott. For a reason I didn't understand at the time, I replied and struck up a correspondence with her. I thought I was lonely. I didn't realise that I was being bewitched."

Lyra stared at her. "You can be bewitched through letters?" she asked, a little frightened. Astoria pursed her lips and nodded.

"I still don't quite understand how — something on the paper, spells, hidden potions or powders, anything — but I began to centre my day, my whole life around receiving these letters. The few friends I had remaining I stopped talking to. One day, the letterwriter asked to meet. Even though I knew it made no sense, I agreed, and I would have gone, too, if it hadn't been that very evening Harriet Apparated onto my doorstep. Scorpius has probably told you about his Auntie Harriet — we were best friends for a time at Hogwarts, but I thought she would never want to speak to me again because... Well, that's a long story. But she wanted to make amends and found out where I was living when I didn't respond to her owls — I had stopped reading the rest of my post, you see — so she could visit me. I let her in and of course she found one of the letters, of which I had dozens by that point, learnt that I had arranged to meet this woman and eventually persuaded me not to go alone. But when she and I arrived at the meeting place, which was in an obscure and rather isolated part of Muggle London, there was no one to be found.

"By that point I had some suspicion of being tricked; spending time with Harriet had brought me back to my senses somewhat. But the letters came again, this time a little less doting, a little more threatening. I was only nineteen at the time and it frightened me, so I got together all the belongings I had and left as soon as possible. I spent the next three or four years in Europe, and when I came back I never heard from the letter writer again — though I did meet the _real_ Sylvia Nott at a Magizoology conference in Sweden during my time there. She had spent the last seven years in Australia, studying the interaction between magical and non-magical wildlife. Dreadfully clever, but she's a rather sour type, and her handwriting's abominable. And she’d certainly never heard of me before."

Lyra was still staring at her, wide-eyed, when a question occurred to her. "Did someone else get letters after you? Is that what you heard about at the Ministry?"

"That's part of it. One of my colleagues has a son of around sixteen who recently lost his father and grandmother within a few months of each other. My colleague hadn't had custody of her son for years, as he lived with his father in Canada, and they weren't close. He seemed to have some kind of pen pal who his mother naturally assumed was a friend back in Canada, but one day he came and told her that an "old work friend of his dad's" had been writing and had offered to meet him. Henry is a rather proper young man, though, so despite their tense relationship he asked his mother if she minded him going, only for her to point out that said friend had been dead for over three years."

"Just like with your letters," Lyra mused. “Well, except Sylvia wasn’t dead, but you know what I mean.”

Astoria nodded. "You can see why I was a little worried when Scorpius told me you seemed distant, particularly after I talked to your mother on the, um..." She paused and awkwardly mimed talking into her hand.

"Telephone," Lyra supplied. "You spoke to my mum?"

Scorpius's mother raised an eyebrow. "I have just told you about a possible kidnapper who targets lonely young people and may still be at large, and you don't think your mother might have reason to check to make sure she knew who you were staying with for the Christmas holidays?"

"Oh, right," Lyra replied, hiding her blush. Trying to brighten the mood, she added,  "Not a great kidnapper, though, really. Foiled both times."

"Foiled two times," Astoria corrected. "I couldn't prove it even if it was my department, but Law Enforcement recently investigated the disappearance of a seventeen-year-old wizard with a talent for making amulets. According to his landlady, he spent all day in his room writing letters, but aside from orders he only ever received one kind of personal correspondence, who he cited as a long lost uncle, though his real uncle was discovered to be in Azkaban..."

 

* * *

 

The stark difference between Scorpius's parents was astounding, and Lyra at first thought that discord between them might be why Scorpius tended to worry about his family. Draco's rooms (his study, the small library, and his workroom) were pristine and almost obsessively organised, and the man himself spent most of his day hidden away in them studying obscure potions, only to emerge looking as neat and unreadable as the first day Lyra had met him. Astoria, on the other hand, only took on her businesswoman persona when she went to work, while in the evenings and on weekends she usually changed into gumboots and comfortable clothes and went to tend to the many creatures that lived in and around the house. Her spaces were cluttered with books, quills, ointments, various odd types of creature-food, scraps of parchment on which she had scrawled reminders to herself, and of course the creatures themselves, which were interesting but not always friendly or particularly aromatic. (The door to Draco’s study and workroom both bore identical notes listing the creatures banned from entering — owls with urgent messages and the silver kneazle called Perga were excepted. Hippogriffs were strictly forbidden.)

Despite their differences though, Scorpius's parents seemed to get along quite well, and they were both obviously very fond of their son — even if his father did show it by asking him to fetch potion ingredients all the time. Lyra saw Draco beam proudly when she mentioned, as she waited for Scorpius to return from checking on the newly hatched hippogriff with his mother, that Scorpius was the best at Potions in their year, and later that day he actually invited them both into his workroom to watch him make a basic pain-numbing potion.

It was that very afternoon that the owl arrived. Handsome despite its obvious age, the Eagle owl still had an imperious look about it that struck Lyra every time she saw it. She was distracted by its presence on the windowsill and turned away from where Draco was explaining to Scorpius why the willowbark needed to be stored soaking in Bubotuber pus for best results. The owl ignored her, fixing its eyes on Draco. The letter it had in its beak was addressed in a spiked, flourishing hand and written out so clearly that Lyra could read it through the window — _Mr Draco Malfoy, Cramped Workroom, Malfoy Cottage, Somerset_.

Lyra resisted the urge to ask out loud if the sender were taking the mickey. Cottage? Malfoy _Cottage?_ (Also Draco's workroom wasn't particularly cramped, but having lived in a small flat above a bookstore for most of her childhood, the suggestion that this vast house was considered a cottage rankled badly.) Instead she turned to the father and son and said, "Mr Malfoy, there's an owl for you outside."

Draco looked up and notice the Eagle owl on the sill. "Damn," he said, replacing the jar he had been showing his son. "I forgot to write back to Mother yesterday. She wanted you to have tea with her tomorrow, Scorpius." He strode over to the window and let the owl in — it nipped him irritably as he unfolded the letter. " _You didn't reply, et cetera, et cetera, you hate me, you're trying to keep me from my grandson_ — I don't think Mother has quite gotten over us moving out, Scorpius — _Tea is at two o'clock sharp, his friend will need to come too._ Well, it looks like you're both going to have tea with Mother tomorrow. You can teach Lyra to use Floo powder, can't you, Scorpius? I have a meeting at the hospital for most of tomorrow."

So that was that. The next day at precisely ten minutes to two, she and Scorpius were stumbling out of a tall fireplace in the dark, musty front hall of what Scorpius had told her was a house in Wiltshire known as Malfoy Manor.

They had barely brushed themselves off before a tall, thin woman with long ash-blonde hair descended the staircase and threw her arms around Scorpius. He hugged her back and kissed her cheek before saying, "Hello, Grandmother."

"Scorpius," she replied, her voice formal but deeply affectionate. "How has your first term at Hogwarts been?"

"Good. I'm doing really well in Potions," he said enthusiastically. The blonde woman, whose face was lined by age but still beautiful and rather haughty, looked approving.

"You take after your father after all," she said warmly. "What _did_ possess you to be sorted into Ravenclaw, Scorpius? You nearly gave your grandfather a heart attack."

He frowned. "You know the Sorting Hat does the sorting. I didn't get a choice."

"Hmph." Mrs Malfoy the Elder looked unimpressed with that answer. "Well if you must be in Ravenclaw then I expect you to be the best of the lot, Scorpius. Don't trust any of them, either — there's little loyalty in that house." Abruptly, she stopped ignoring Lyra and turned on her almost threateningly. "What house are you in, Miss Jones?"

"Ravenclaw, Mrs Malfoy," she replied with a hint of defiance. The old woman's blue eyes narrowed. Lyra, retreating to the tried and true, offered her hand. "I'm Lyra. It's very nice to meet you."

Mrs Malfoy took her hand gingerly, like she was holding a dead fish. "Narcissa Malfoy. I suppose you are used to the 'other' Mrs Malfoy." Lyra wasn't sure what to say to that, so she remained silent. "What does _she_ think of you?"

"Grandmother," Scorpius interrupted. "Are you coming to ours for Christmas still? Is Grandfather?"

Lyra stepped quietly away from Narcissa as she turned to her grandson.

"Lucius has had a bad turn," she declared imperiously. "He will not be coming to Christmas festivities this year. I will be attending, as will Andromeda. Her grandson has taken it upon himself to join his godfather's family for Christmas." Lyra got the distinct impression that whoever Andromeda's grandson was, Narcissa wasn't very fond of him. The clock above the fireplace chimed two o'clock and Narcissa seemed to force the thought from her mind. "Come upstairs, Scorpius. Tea will be ready now."

Scorpius squeezed Lyra's hand and they followed his grandmother upstairs.

Having tea with Narcissa Malfoy was a bit like having tea with the Queen, though of England or of Hearts, Lyra wasn't sure. She did her best to be polite and leave Scorpius to talk to his grandmother while trying to be unobtrusive, but every so often Narcissa would round on her with a strange question so that Lyra would blurt out an answer without thinking. At one point when Lyra was halfway through a scone, Narcissa asked why she wasn't spending the holidays with _her_ parents.

The stealth attack didn't work that time, though, as Lyra had kept her answer ready since she had met Narcissa, knowing the question would be coming. (Also she needed to finish chewing her scone, so she had time to think.) "The book store gets really busy around this time of year so we don't get much time together anyway. I was going to stay at Hogwarts until Scorpius invited me. I hope it isn't too much trouble."

Narcissa raised a single eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by either her grandson's friend being the daughter of Muggle shop owners or the quality of her reply in general. "I suppose you must have difficulties in school, having known nothing of magic all your life."

"It's not so bad," Lyra replied briskly and quite untruthfully. She would never have admitted to this woman that she was doing abysmally in most classes.

"Lyra's good at Transfiguration," Scorpius added, and Lyra was caught between gratitude and fear that Narcissa would ask for a demonstration. He continued, "Steve's a Muggleborn and he probably knows more than the whole year about magical theory by now. And Becka's top of our class in Herbology, even though she's spent her whole life in a Muggle orphanage. Not to mention Meghan—"

"That's quite enough, Scorpius," Narcissa said, a touch irritably. "I'm sure your classmates are very talented."

"They are," he replied. He held her gaze earnestly. Narcissa frowned and began to speak, but was interrupted by the entrance of Mr Malfoy, the younger.

"Pardon me for interrupting, Mother," Draco said as he entered, striding over to kiss his mother on the cheek. "The meeting at the hospital finished early and I thought I might join you for tea." He collapsed elegantly into the armchair next to his mother's, looking exquisitely drained. In the wake of the broken tension, Lyra fought the urge to giggle.

"Draco," Narcissa began simply — the address was at once a motherly embrace and a sharp reproof. "I do wish you wouldn't spend time with those Healers. They're a dreadful influence, and frankly unclean."

"It pays to work, Mother,” he drawled. “Although Healer Griggs is quite a vile personage, I agree."

"But you don't _need_ to work," Narcissa said, exasperation breaking through her natural coldness of manner. "If you lived here—"

"What kind of example would I be for your grandson if I lazed about in the Manor all day? Besides, I'm not sure you and Father would appreciate Astoria's pets," Draco said smoothly. Narcissa made a sniffing noise that suggested she appreciated her daughter-in-law's taste in animals as much as she appreciated her son's taste in wives.

The rest of tea was marginally less awkward. Draco clearly had experience sidestepping his mother's objections and managed to make Potioneering sound rather exciting, despite or perhaps because of his commentary on his strange co-workers. By the time they left through the fireplace again, Lyra felt that she had a better understanding of Draco Malfoy. He spoke lazily and did not render others in a particularly flattering light, but he wasn't as malicious about it as he first seemed. His irritation at the slowness of the trainee Healers was genuine, but his commentary on his colleagues at the hospital, including the 'vile personage' of Healer Griggs, was tempered by a degree of respect. He liked working, she realised, and not just for Scorpius's sake. She wondered what it would be look to be cooped up in this dank house all day with nothing to do, and appreciated why they had felt the need to move out.

Astoria was waiting in the lounge when they arrived back. "Father won't be coming to Christmas this year," Draco told her. "He's ill, according to Mother."

She looked worried. "Did you check up on him? He's been so sick lately, but you know he won't go to Mungo's."

"I asked, but Mother declared that he didn't want to be disturbed. I said I'd go back on Saturday if he was still sick, which Mother obviously thinks he will be if he's skipping Christmas." He hesitated, then added, "I might ask Banes to come along; Father will tolerate him, and he's very discreet."

"Good," Astoria replied. "At least then we'll know what's wrong. You remembered to keep Sunday free?"

"Of course," Draco replied, although he had in fact suggested Sunday: it had been Narcissa who had decided that Saturday would be better.

"What's on Sunday?" Scorpius asked curiously. Lyra looked up. She hadn't heard anything about Sunday before either. Did wizards go to church for Christmas?

His parents both smiled. "Wait and see," Astoria told them.

* * *

 

Distance did not seem to be a concern for witches and wizards. The Malfoys of Somerset's closest magical neighbours were at least a hundred kilometres away; Hogsmeade, Lyra was informed, was the only wholly magical community in all of Britain. It would have been a big outing for a Muggle family to drive into London for a single day of shopping, as the journey took at least three hours, but Astoria simply informed Scorpius and Lyra over Sunday breakfast that they were going to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping and half an hour later they were stepping out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, Lyra coughing from the cloud of ash. Draco complained, as he was wont to do, about the new owners never sweeping out the fireplace, and they made their way out of the dimly lit pub and out into the brisk winter wind of Diagon Alley.

The street was almost as crowded as the day when Lyra had purchased her school things, with a large group of teenagers swarming around Quality Quidditch Supplies. Bypassing that shop entirely, Scorpius led Lyra towards a huge, brightly lit store in the middle of the street. The title _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ shone on the sign; before Lyra could contemplate the meaning of that, Scorpius had pulled her inside.

It was full of people, but beyond that it was full of _stuff_. Brightly coloured packages, sweets, bottles and knickknacks were everywhere, along with wands, hats, and what looked like a rack of fleshy streamers. Lyra began to follow Scorpius, but he stopped and turned to her.

"Don't you want to explore over there?" he suggested, rather obviously. He did not have his father's smooth manner.

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "What are you up to?" She trusted him, but they did seem to be in a joke store. She didn’t want to be stalked by an enchanted whoopie cushion or something.

"Nothing," he replied, flustered. "I just wanted to get your present."

"Not from this bit, you're not," Lyra replied, eying a bottle of _WonderWitch - Heartbreak Teardrops_ with distaste. Scorpius went red.

"Well, no, I didn't think you'd like the WonderWitch stuff — unless you'd like a Pygmy Puff? They're sort of cute."

Pygmy Puffs turned out to be round fluff-ball creatures that could fit in the palm of her hand. They mostly came in purples and pinks, but there were a handful in blues and greens, as well as one with white fur and red eyes that might have been an albino.

"No thanks. Marple would be jealous," she replied, laughing a little, before a mental voice that sounded like her mother's reminded her to mind her manners. "But you don't need to get me a Christmas present, Scorpius. You're already having me over for almost a month."

Scorpius shrugged. "I know I don't have to. I want to. You don't have to get me anything just because I'm getting you something."

"I already got your present," Lyra replied. Her mother had sent it to her with Marple while they were still at Hogwarts. "It's a bit Muggly though, so maybe don't show your grandma. Is Muggly a word?"

"I guess it is now," he replied, and suddenly ducked off between a couple of shelves, laughing. Lyra didn't bother following him and focused on finding her way out of the WonderWitch section to something more interesting (and less pastel).

Although she had already had her mum send her a book on the strangest wild animals ever discovered (by Muggles, at least), Lyra had half a mind to get Scorpius something small that she could give him while his grandmother was there. She checked her purse and wished she had about ten times more Sickles. _Weather in a Bottle - Snowstorm Surprise_ was six and a half Sickles for a bottle the size of her thumb, though she was convinced setting off a snowfall in the dormitory was well worth the inevitable detention. The display of 'Whizzbang' fireworks had Lyra captivated, but the _Basic Blaze Box_ was five galleons — far beyond what she could afford. There was one _Funsize Fawkes_ left — a box of miniature Whizzbangs for twelve Sickles — which Lyra had her hands on before she knew what she was doing. Avoiding the gaze of a disgruntled fourth-year behind her, she made her way through the crowd to a quiet corner. She realised why this part wasn't as crowded when she noticed a rabbit-from-hat trick set, magician's wands and a stack of ordinary playing cards. The sight of the _Grow Your Own Crystals_ kit made her laugh. If only they had Sea Monkeys, this store would be complete.

"Those are Muggle tricks."

Lyra jumped. The man seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He was gaunt beneath his freckles and rather stocky, and he wore a coat made of some scaly material — _Alligator?_ she thought wonderingly — with a badge that declared him George Weasley, Manager and Owner. His bright red hair was streaked with grey, although he couldn't be more than fifty.

It took her a moment to register what he had said. "Oh, I know," she said, and then hastily explained, "My parents are Muggles. I had a crystal-growing kit when I was seven."

The man raised an eyebrow. "A little young for Hogwarts, aren't you?"

"I'm eleven and a half."

The man made a noncommittal noise. "Have you seen the Snackboxes? Or maybe a Portable Swamp?"

"No thanks," she replied. She felt uneasy. The sell was smooth and practised, but the man seemed detached — too sober, she thought, for a man who ran a joke store.

"You can't tell me you've never wanted to skip Binns's class," the man said, with a smile that didn't make it to his eyes, but Lyra smiled back nonetheless. She tended to read _A History of Magic_ before dinner and use the class itself to catch up on sleep. "If you get those," he indicated the box of fireworks in her hands, "show this to the cashier when you pay. Christmas special." He handed her a bright purple ticket with the words _Whizzbangs Mystery Bag_ emblazoned in bright silver. She thanked him, but he was already wandering off towards the crowd to hand out more tickets.

Lyra collected a small handful of other things — Sugar Hexes, two Extendable Ears, and something called Canary Creams that she might have been planning to feed to her dorm-mates — and joined the long line to the counter. After she had finally purchased her things, she saw Scorpius at the door with his own Wheezes bag, standing next to his mother and waving to get her attention. She squeezed through the crowd to the door and half-fell out into the street.

"I knew Scorpius would drag you here," Astoria commented as she helped Lyra steady herself. "Draco has retreated to the apothecary. Do you want to go to Flourish & Blotts?"

They made their way to the bookstore where Astoria, caught up in the Christmas spirit, ushered them into a corner so they wouldn't see her buying presents. Scorpius purchased a book on an obscure type of potionmaking for his father — the kind that needed one to simmer a pint of dragon’s blood in a solid gold cauldron for three days for the first step of the recipe — and when Astoria was on the other side of the store, Lyra pointed out to him a small tome on the ethics of dragon-sourced products. Astoria frequently discussed with her husband how potions ingredients from animals were sourced, which Lyra found interesting enough, although she had decided early on not to mention that her own wand's core was dragon heartstring.

Scorpius bought the dragon book and Lyra found a book on the history of magical sub-centres in Muggle cities for her mother, then the three of them headed off to Scribbulus Writing Implements, which was a few doors down from Ollivander's wand shop. A bell above the door jangled as they entered the relatively empty store. Astoria set out picking small gifts for her coworkers — good quills, multi-use ink, no-heat-required sealing wax and the like — while Lyra and Scorpius went to examine some of the fancy quills at the front of the store. The centrepiece of the display was what looked like a bouquet of peacock feathers with a nib, only the feathers were green, silver and gold rather than blue and green. They marvelled at it with a mixture of awe and incredulity.

"How would you write with that?" Lyra whispered.

"I don't think it's really for using," Scorpius replied. "Maybe Mum could get it for Grandmother — she always has trouble picking a present for her."

Lyra 'mmm'ed noncommittally. She still didn't know what to think of Narcissa Malfoy or her obvious dislike of her daughter-in-law. She wandered over to the corner where a case of ring-mounted seals were on display.

She had only been standing there a moment when someone grabbed her arm. She nearly jumped out of her skin before realising it was just a young woman in a Scribbulus uniform (parchment-coloured robes with _Scribbulus_ in calligraphy on the left side of the chest) who had been stacking shelves nearby. She was about to deny touching anything when the woman said triumphantly, "I thought I recognised you!"

"I don't—"

"What happened to that man outside Ollivander's back in August? I saw you there but Mister Scribullus made me go into the back room for extra blue quills and by the time I got out again no one knew what had happened!" The sight of Lyra's distress only seemed to invigorate the woman more. "Was he cursed? Is there a new Dark Wizard? Out with it!"

Lyra burst into tears.

The moment of shock was enough to slacken the woman's grip; Lyra tore her arm free and ran for the door, tripping over a stack of parchment but not stopping, not when she was out the door nor when she was down the street and out of sight of the store. Only when she stumbled into an alleyway between a trunk shop and _Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment_ did she collapse against the wall, struggling to breath in between sobs. _No, not again, no no no no NO!_

Astoria, Draco, and Scorpius found her there fifteen minutes later, sitting on the pavement with her knees drawn up to her chest, head hanging in defeat. She looked up at them miserably. "I'm sorry," she managed to say.

"It's quite all right," Astoria said deftly, helping her up. "Just please don't run off again; what would I say to your mother if we lost you?"

"'Sorry, I misplaced your daughter'?" Lyra suggested with a weak smile. Astoria laughed, but Scorpius and his father were still frowning.

"What did that woman mean about a man outside Ollivander's?" Scorpius asked.

Lyra didn't know what to say, but Astoria answered for her. "A man collapsed in the street here a few months ago, Scorpius. I assume Lyra was getting her wand at the time and that young woman wanted to know if the man had been attacked. She seemed convinced there had been a Ministry cover-up of some kind."

"Oh." Scorpius still looked confused, but Draco's eyes lit with understanding.

"How about we go to Fortescue's and get some ice cream?" he suggested, distracting Scorpius from staring at Lyra's tearstained face.

"That sounds lovely," Astoria agreed, and her husband and son led the way back out into the street. Before following them, she handed Lyra a clean handkerchief to wipe her face with.

"Thank you," Lyra said hoarsely.

Astoria squeezed her shoulder gently. "Any time."

* * *

 

The incident in Diagon Alley was quickly forgotten in the following weeks and both Scorpius and Lyra were in high spirits. They busied themselves decorating the house, putting up wreaths and catching fairies to put on the Christmas tree in the lounge, along with replacing the baubles that had been stolen by the three kneazles, all of whom had a fondness for shiny things. They regularly visited Arrownose and Nipper's baby, a reddish-brown foal whom Lyra had jokingly dubbed Mistletoe and who henceforth had refused to answer to anything else. The young unicorn, now healed, had been released into the forest, but every so often they would catch a glimpse of silver in the distance. Every day the old Eagle owl came bearing reminders from Narcissa about exactly how certain things were to be prepared, the precise ripeness of the berries in the sauce, the hour at which presents were to be opened, et cetera, most of which Astoria tossed into the bin, only for Draco to retrieve them with a reproving sigh. Lyra wrapped her presents and sent Marple off home with a parcel and a four-foot letter on how wizards spent their Christmas. On Christmas Eve night there was a surprise visitor in the form of Mistletoe the hippogriff, who had decided to venture out of the nest for the first time while his parents were hunting, but soon he was retrieved by Nipper and safely tucked into bed, and Astoria strongly suggested that Scorpius and Lyra should follow his lead.

Having finally gotten back into some semblance of normal sleep patterns after the madness of Hogwarts, Lyra managed to wake up early on Christmas morning, though not quite as early as Scorpius, who was knocking on her door.

"I'll be out in a minute!" she called out, before hastily changing into day clothes — it still felt too odd to go around in someone else's house in her pyjamas. She opened her door to find Scorpius waiting with an armful of chocolate frogs. "Where'd you get _those?_ "

It was a moment before he replied, as he was trying to open a frog box one-handed. The frog bounded out of his hands, but in a rare display of hand-eye co-ordination, Lyra caught it. Scorpius pulled out the card. "Circe," he commented. "Haven't you checked your stocking?"

"My what?"

"Your—" He gestured to the end of her bed, where a blue stocking was hanging. She had vaguely noticed it the night before, but this morning it was stuffed to the brim with Sugar Quills and Fizzing Whizzbees. Scorpius left his pile of frogs on the dresser and they both went downstairs, Lyra hovering over the steps due to the Fizzing Whizzbee she was sucking. The house was bright but unusually quiet: Draco and Astoria weren't awake yet, and all the creatures were asleep as well, save for the Fire Crab, which blinked lazily up at them as they passed its tank. Scorpius headed for the lounge room, where the tree was set up.

"We're supposed to wait until ten, when Grandmother arrives," he said quietly, "but we're allowed to unwrap one present each before she gets here."

"This one," Lyra said immediately, picking up a clumsily wrapped parcel.

"That's one of mine," Scorpius said, frowning.

"I know, it's the Muggly one I was telling you about. I want you to open it before your grandma gets here."

Carefully untangling the object from its wrappings, Scorpius uncovered a book with a picture of a butterfly which had wings like a tiger's face. " _All Creatures Great and Small — World's Strangest Wildlife_ ," he read aloud, flipping open the cover.

Lyra shuffled awkwardly. "I thought seeing as you like magical creatures you might want to, um, find out about non-magical ones too. It's an RSPCA book, too, so the money goes to feeding cats and dogs..."

Scorpius put the book to the side and hugged her. "It's brilliant," he said, beaming. "Here, open mine!"

When they came downstairs, Astoria and Draco found the two of them playing with Lyra's new Reuseable Hangman, Scorpius using animal names from his new book. Looking grimmer than usual, Draco made them put their unwrapped presents away and instructed Scorpius to change into his nice robes. Scorpius made his way upstairs gloomily while Astoria examined the wildlife book, just as fascinated as her son. She put it back upstairs before Draco could call her a bad influence, but discretely thanked Lyra anyway, grinning.

At precisely ten o'clock, there was a knock at the door. Draco let his mother and aunt inside while Astoria and the children finished setting the table for morning tea. Andromeda Tonks was a tall and handsome woman with greying light brown curls cut neatly short, and dark, kind eyes. Her manner was rather stiff and formal, but she warmed slightly when greeting her great-nephew, bending down slightly to hug him. "So," she said, examining him, "I hear you're a Ravenclaw." Narcissa scowled, but Andromeda didn't notice.

"Your Teddy's a Hufflepuff, isn't he, Andromeda?" Astoria asked politely.

"The same as his mother," Andromeda said proudly. "I hope you're not too upset about Scorpius breaking tradition, Cissy."

"Not at all," Narcissa said tersely. "Shall we have tea first?"

"Perhaps tea and presents together?" Astoria countered. Both Mrs Malfoys looked at the other, and something akin to a battle of wills seemed to pass between them, but in a moment it was gone. Narcissa raised an eyebrow at her daughter-in-law and then gracefully allowed the motion to pass.

Draco distributed the presents into neat piles for each of them as the adults helped themselves to tea. Lyra was surprised to find that she had her own pile, small though it was — she had only been expecting Scorpius's present, which she had already unwrapped. There were a set of pens and a beautiful thick-paper notebook from her mother, who had sent it through Scorpius’s parents as a surprise; a tiny living model of a unicorn from Astoria; two small books called _Brewing: the Basics_ and _Twenty-One Simple Potions To Save Your Life_ from Draco, who had also given copies to his son (Draco insisted they were to best basic potions books on the market and wished that all the trainee Healers had read them); and another present from Scorpius, a book on dragons. Scorpius was almost as pleased with the box of _Funsize Fawkes_ as he had been with the wildlife book, although Astoria immediately warned him against using them in the house or near any animals; Draco had given him an assortment of Apothecary purchases to practise potion making with; Astoria gave him several books on magical creatures ( _Trusting Transfiguration_ was hidden among them); and Andromeda had provided a large box of Honeydukes chocolate, which Scorpius handed around the room. Narcissa's present was by far the biggest — whatever Lyra thought of her, she clearly loved her grandson. The silvery-white globe of the moon was held aloft by arms of intertwined gold and silver, every so often parting to reveal a green gem. Narcissa looked pleased with her grandson's awe and waved off his thanks, smiling. "Nonsense, every young wizard needs to know his Astronomy. Lucius wanted to get you a broom but I reminded him that you wouldn't be able to take it to Hogwarts until second year. We'll see if the new Nimbus is coming out soon."

Scorpius thanked her again, but when she turned to place the globe on a side table he gave his mother a worried glance. Astoria leaned down to hug her son and Lyra heard her whisper, "We'll talk to them."

The Malfoys had Christmas lunch _and_ dinner, which to Lyra's mind was something akin to madness, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. The food was delicious (Narcissa made a comment about House Elves never burning the potatoes, but Andromeda shushed her) and the Wizard crackers were like unwrapping presents all over again — by the time dessert was served, Lyra had acquired a set of tiny potion vials, jinxed self-reading tarot cards that always told ludicrous fortunes, a cloud of butterflies that was chased all over the house by the three kneazles, and a truly terrible hat that was bright orange and split into two points near the top. Scorpius, wearing what looked like Galadriel's crown from Lord of the Rings, promised to show her how to use the Gobstones he had found in his cracker.

They retired to the lounge, though Narcissa stopped Lyra before she could enter. "What are your intentions towards my grandson?" she demanded.

Lyra blinked up at her, stunned. Luckily, Andromeda had overheard. "Cissa, she's _eleven_. She doesn't have _intentions_ towards anyone."

Narcissa glared suspiciously at Lyra, but let her through to the lounge room. Startled and off-balance, Lyra sat on the far side of the room to Narcissa with Astoria and Andromeda between them. Draco was sitting next to his son.

"What's Teddy planning to do with himself now, Andromeda?" he asked, his speech just a little slurred. All the adults were rather red faced by this point — the wine had been given generously and drunk gratefully since lunchtime.

Andromeda sighed. "He's moved out. Merlin, I do worry about that boy."

"Doesn't he know what he wants to do?" Narcissa asked sharply. Apparently the life of leisure was a boon only for her children.

Andromeda looked exhausted. "He knows exactly what he wants to do — be an Auror like his mum and godfather. It's far too dangerous, I've told him that, but he doesn't listen. Even Harry's warned him it's not easy, but he's determined to go through with the training and then what? End up fighting Dark wizards? Dementors? He doesn't think. I..." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, on the verge of tears. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to him. Nymphadora would never have forgiven me."

There was a silence, and Narcissa reached over to squeeze her sister's hand. There was a tenderness in her face that Lyra hadn’t seen before.

"Well," Astoria said awkwardly, "I'm sure he'll be alright. After all, the attacks last summer weren't the usual, were they?"

Andromeda didn't reply immediately, instead glancing meaningfully at Scorpius and Lyra. Astoria took the hint. "You two should probably head up to bed," she told them.

Reluctantly, the two children said goodnight to everyone and began to climb the staircase up to their rooms. When they were halfway up, Lyra caught Scorpius's arm. "What's a Dementor?" she asked.

Scorpius looked uncomfortable and gestured for her to come further up the stairs. "They're these, um... Well, they're classified as beings," he said finally, "but they're not like centaurs or mermaids. They feed on feelings — human feelings. I don't know what it's like exactly, but Mum once said they make you feel like everything is hopeless. Like all the happy thoughts you've ever had just... disappear. They don't go near people much these days, because of the Aurors, but they used to guard Azkaban when Mum was a kid."

"Azkaban?"

"It's the prison." Lyra looked blank. "The Wizard prison? The Ministry doesn't put Dark wizards and witches in with Muggle criminals."

"What's different about Azkaban?" she asked. They sat down on her bed, too full from dinner to eat any of the sweets from their stockings. "Why would they put those... feeling-eating things in as guards?"

Quietly, careful that they weren't being overheard, Scorpius told her everything he knew about Azkaban, from his grandfather, from his mother, and from the children he knew who had relatives in there. He left for his own bedroom soon after, while Lyra stayed up reading a chapter of the book of dragons he had gotten her, but when she finally fell asleep, it wasn't dragons waiting for her in her dreams. It was Dementors and Azkaban.


	12. Chapter 11: Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter and that's all you need to know.
> 
> Warnings: Memory loss, blood, assault (not sexual), malicious use of memory-modification charms.

Christmas at the Burrow was always a mixture of joy and madness. Rose's paternal grandparents had never managed to have much of a quiet retirement, with one of their six grown children showing up every few days to visit, usually with  _ their _ children in tow. But Christmas was way beyond that. Charlie, Bill, Fleur, Percy, Audrey, George, Angelina, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry all arrived for the week with thirteen children between them, including Harry's godson Teddy Lupin. Twenty six people under one ghoul-infested roof was bound to get a little cramped, so Rose and her cousins spent most of their days outside, playing Quidditch — even Molly gave it a try that year.

All in all it had been a cheerful occasion, but Rose was secretly worried by the increasingly haggard appearance of Uncle George. She had asked him if he was alright, but all he had done was muttered something about sleeping badly and told her not to worry.

She had been sad to bid her parents goodbye at Platform 9 & 3/4, but being back at Hogwarts she had a sense of freedom she hadn't noticed before. It was well and truly winter now, and she and Albus were wandering through the castle in search of the kitchens. Her mother would probably have insisted she wear more in the freezing castle than her normal clothes and the jumper Grandma Weasley had made her, but Rose liked the feeling of the cold air on her face. It made her feel awake despite the fact she had been up later than usual finishing a Transfiguration essay. Albus was happy to rug up in his cloak, hat and scarf, though he kept yawning, which Rose felt proved her point.

"Are you sure we can get to the kitchens?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time. "There's probably a password that only the teachers know."

"Teddy said he's been in there," Rose reminded him as they walked back up from the dungeons. They knew the kitchens were somewhere in the lower levels of the castle, they just didn't know where. Or how to get in. Or if there was any point going, seeing as the house elves had no obligation to feed students who came to find them, no matter how much Teddy raved about the food. But it was an adventure of sorts, and seeing as Ellie was busy working on a Potions project with Brigid, there wasn't much else to do that they hadn't promised not to do without her.

They were about to take a turn back towards the Grand Staircase when they heard a high-pitched voice say, "Excuse me, sir!" They turned around but the corridor was empty.

"Harry Potter, sir! It is good to be seeing you, Harry Potter!" The voice was coming from the paintings. A figure pushed his way into the frame of Sir Broderick the Third, narrowly avoiding getting one of his many hats impaled on the knight's sword. Rose's eyes widened as she recognised the creature.

"You're Dobby!" The elf was dressed in a woollen sweater that reminded Rose of her grandmother's handknitted jumpers — the elf's even bore an 'R' as hers always did,  although her jumpers were all varying shades of blue instead of maroon. He was also wearing at least three layers of mismatched socks and half a dozen lumpy knitted hats.

"Dobby is most certainly Dobby, miss!" He bowed to her and one of his hats lost a bobble to Sir Broderick's lance. He hastily moved the the next portrait, a landscape of some calmly grazing cows being watched over by a tired-looking muggle. "And who is Harry Potter's friend?"

"I'm afraid I'm not Harry Potter," Albus told the elf anxiously, whose large ears immediately began to droop. "He's my father, actually. I'm Albus Potter, and this is my cousin, Rose Weasley."

The elf changed suddenly from disappointed to delighted. "Harry Potter's son, sir! Dobby is happy to meet you – and this is your Wheezy?"

"My what?" Albus asked. Rose looked curiously at the painted elf.

"Why hasn't anyone else told us about you?" she asked. "Don't you know James or Victoire... or Molly, maybe?"

The elf shook his head — the hats wobbled precariously — and replied, "Dobby's portrait is in the kitchens, miss. Dobby is only leaving there this year, when Dobby hears that Harry Potter is returning to Hogwarts... Only it is not Harry Potter, but Harry Potter's son!"

"The kitchens?" Al asked eagerly. "Could you show us the way there, Dobby?"

The elf not only could, but did so with such enthusiasm that Rose and Albus struggled to keep up. They went down another staircase and past a pile of barrels before stopping abruptly in front of a still-life of a fruit bowl. Dobby stayed in the fruit bowl painting just long enough to say, "Tickle the pear!" before vanishing altogether.

Albus and Rose exchanged a look. "Tickle the pear?" he asked incredulously.

Rose quickly glanced over the fruit bowl for something like a pear and found it on the far right, at about shoulder height to her. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try..." Feeling very foolish, she gave the pear a gentle scratch — and nearly jumped out of her skin when it started laughing. Abruptly the giggling stopped and Rose was holding a pear-coloured doorknob. The portrait was a door. Pulling it open, she and Albus cautiously entered the kitchens.

For a moment after entering they stood there, stunned. The huge room, around the size of the Great Hall, was full of house elves, more than either of them had ever seen, some chopping vegetables, some stirring the contents of saucepans, others scrubbing plates. Rose saw the toast racks from breakfast in a corner, set aside while the preparations for dinner were in full swing. She took a deep breath and found the air full of delicious smells of cooking meat and baked vegetables and every kind of herb and spice she could think of. There were pumpkin and fruit juices in tall glass pitchers and loaves upon loaves of freshly baked bread. Along one bench there were puddings: tarts and cakes and even chocolate mousse. It looked like they were preparing for a feast, but that night's was just a normal dinner. Rose felt overwhelmed at the idea of what feast preparations might look like.

They only had a few seconds to take it all in, because almost immediately a matronly house elf in a pristinely kept pillowcase bearing the Hogwarts crest appeared in front of them. "Good afternoon, students!" she declared in a squeaky but clearly authoritative voice. "Are you looking for something to eat?"

"Uh..." Albus said, obviously reeling from his first sight of the kitchens. "We-we were just curious..."

"Hot chocolate?" the elf suggested. "It is very cold today, sir."

Albus and Rose readily agreed and followed the house elf, who introduced herself as Moddie, further into the kitchens. As they walked, Rose noticed there seemed to be two distinct groups of house elves: there were those wearing embroidered Hogwarts tea towels in a toga-style, with the occasional one in a pillowcase like Moddie's (Rose suspected it was a sign of seniority); and the others, who made up slightly less than half, were dressed in clothes, all fresh dresses and neat shirts, protected by elf-sized Hogwarts aprons. These were the elves who were willing to accept payment for their work — Rose knew there were a growing number of house elves who were warming to the idea of payment and fair work, even if few of them ever spent the money in question or took up their holidays. It was the principle of the thing, and a back-up in case they should ever, heaven forbid, find themselves without a household to keep or a place to stay. But unfortunately it seemed to have caused a rift between the paid and the unpaid elves. Maybe four elves of the possible hundred were working together with another of a different group. Mostly the clothed elves kept to one end and the tea-toweled to the other — Rose saw Dobby's portrait down the paid elves' end, waving happily at her.

Moddie sniffed imperiously in the painting's direction. "All this 'paying' and 'holidays' is Dobby's fault," she informed them. "Many years ago, a girl is leaving hats all around the common room — trying to trick us into taking clothes! So we is not cleaning the dormitory, but Dobby is, and Dobby is taking ALL the hats and asking the headmaster for wages and days off! And the older elves, we is knowing that this is bad, we is telling him not to, but the young elves is getting  _ ideas _ ." She said all this in the tone of one lamenting a great tragedy. Moments later, both Rose and Albus were presented with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, and Moddie continued. "And soon they is asking for paying too, and  _ days off _ . We  _ likes _ to work, and they is asking for  _ days off! _ Soon, nobody is taking house elves because they is thinking we is needing to be paid. And it is all Dobby's fault!"

Albus gave Rose a warning glance not to argue with Moddie. She bit back the retort about how use of house elves had been falling steadily for the past fifty years and had in fact risen somewhat since the introduction of regular wages, instead asking, "Do you talk to the paid elves?" Albus sighed loudly.

Moddie looked indignant. "We is talking to each other when we needs to, to work. We is not needing to talk otherwise." She took a moment to present them with a plate of chocolate biscuits, which Rose for the life of her could not see the source of. She took a sip of her hot chocolate and was surprised to find the chill in her lungs vanished immediately. Still, what Moddie said worried her a lot. Were there families caught between the two groups? Rose knew that house elves didn't tend to have nuclear families the way wizards and Muggles did, but surely it still meant something if you were forbidden from talking to your parents, or your siblings, just for choosing to be paid? She resolved to write to her mother about it. She would understand.

Moddie left them and returned to supervising the dinner preparations, so Albus and Rose managed to sneak over to Dobby's portrait and thank him for leading them there. The paid elves seemed just as happy as the unpaid, and perhaps healthier, although it might have been Rose's imagination. Certainly one elf nearby was talking excitedly to his neighbour about how Monday was his day off and he was going in to Hogsmeade for the morning. A tea-towelled elf heard him and glowered over a tureen of soup. 

Finishing their hot chocolate and biscuits, they thanked Moddie and were just leaving when they heard a crash from upstairs, followed by another, and another. The crashing continued as they ran upstairs. 

A crowd had already gathered in the Entrance Hall by the time they got there, and they had to squeeze past a group of fifth years to see what was going on. When they did, Rose's eyes nearly fell out of her head.

Six full-sized suits of armour that usually lined the walls of the Entrance Hall were standing in a half-circle, doing what looked like the Hokey-Cokey. Every time they took their left legs out they stomped them on the ground with a loud crash, and 'shaking it all about' produced a cacophony of clanging, creaking, and jangling. Behind the line of dancers, Dorian and Dominique were puppeteering, Dom jabbing violently while Dorian swept his wand like a conductor's baton. The ones Dom was controlling were jerking around like drunkards, much to the amusement of the crowd.

Rose felt her temper rising. "Oh, for goodness sake!" she said irritably. " _ This _ is what they're disturbing everyone for? I thought Dom was joking!" Dominique had mentioned the idea over Christmas, but never had Rose considered she would actually do it.

"I did too," Albus said, laughing as the suits of armour switched to a crashing rendition of the cancan. "But I'm glad she wasn't!"

" _ Really _ , Albus?"

Albus tore his eyes away from the scene to stare at her. "Yeah, I think it's funny. What's wrong with you, Rose? Ever since we were Sorted you've been so serious all the time! A-and snobby, too..." He averted his eyes. "Nothing we do is good enough for you anymore."

"Al!"

"It's true! What were you thinking about, down in the kitchens? House elf rights? Can't you act normal for once, instead of looking down your nose at everyone for not being as adult as you?"

Rose could feel her ears going red, along with the rest of her face, but she couldn't bring herself to reply. What was she  _ supposed  _ to be thinking about? Biscuits? Hot chocolate? She thought Albus had understood. She thought he had felt the same way — why wouldn't he? Wasn't he her best friend?

Nobody had noticed their conversation under the sound of the clanking armour, but Rose felt humiliated. Albus stared determinedly at the dancing knights as Rose turned and ran, tears burning in her eyes.

* * *

 

Rose stumbled through the door to the dormitory and threw herself onto her bed. Why had she thought Albus would understand? Why had she thought anyone would understand? He and Ellie had probably been laughing at her behind her back this whole time, or even to her face! After all, how did she know those smiles she had taken for agreement weren't them mocking her?

She jumped at a loud sound from one of the other beds, but relaxed when she realised it was just Lyra snoring.  _ Only she would sleep in this late, _ Rose thought angrily, as though the other girl had conspired to be there just when Rose needed to be alone. She found Charlie snoozing under her bed and pulled him onto her lap. The cat growled irritably but settled there quickly enough, allowing Rose to cry into his fur without protest. 

Charlie — her Uncle Charlie, not her cat — understood. He liked dragons more than people, and despite being popular and athletic he had always preferred studying dragons to anything else, even Quidditch. He didn't think she was no fun if she talked about house elf rights or the legal status of poltergeists, just as she didn't worry when all he wanted to discuss was the Hungarian Horntail that had just hatched. It wasn't a crime to care about something.

Lyra snored again, and for some reason it just made Rose  _ angry _ . Who was lazy enough to be lying in bed at two o'clock on a Saturday? She stomped over to the other girl's bed and said loudly, "Get up!"

Lyra mumbled something and turned away from her.

"I said, GET UP!"

"I'm awake, I'm awake!" Lyra sat up in bed, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. "What are you yelling at me for?"

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon and you are  _ still _ in bed," Rose growled at her.

Lyra stared at her and a look of befuddlement came over her face. "How did I get here?" she asked unexpectedly.

"What do you mean, how did you get here? You came to bed..."  _ Last night, with the rest of us _ , she'd been going to say, but now that she thought of it she hadn't seen her come in. Lyra did seem to stay up late sometimes, though. Rose had probably been asleep by the time she came to the dormitory. "Sometime last night, I guess. Where did you expect to be?"

Lyra looked around blankly and Rose suddenly felt nervous. Lyra looked almost like she'd been Confunded — or worse.

"I don't remember going to bed," Lyra said finally. "I... I guess I must have forgotten, I had these strange dreams..." Shaking her head, she pulled off the covers.

Rose screamed.

Under the blanket there was blood everywhere, criss-crossing in red lines across the underside of the white sheet. These were mirrored on Lyra herself: deep, straight cuts sliced over her arms and torso. Even as she stared at Rose with strangely glassy eyes, the other girl noticed a particularly bloody patch on her upper left arm, where the arm of her school robes was nearly falling off.

_ Wait a second _ , Rose thought. “Lyra, you’re wearing your robes.”

“What?” she asked, looking down at herself. She gave a tiny shriek when she saw herself covered in blood, her robes sliced through. “What- I- I don’t-”

“What happened to you?” Rose demanded, but just by looking at her dorm-mate’s pale, terrified face, she had her answer. Lyra didn’t have any idea how she had been injured.

“I don’t- I just…” she trailed off as she stared at her the slices cut into the top of her forearms. Her breath came sharp and shallow, and she seemed to be getting paler by the second.

Rose snapped out of her stupor. “We need to get you to the hospital wing,” she declared. “Can you walk?”

Fortunately the cuts seemed isolated to her upper body and she had no trouble stumbling out of bed, although the faint glazed-over look in her eyes still gave Rose a distinctly uneasy feeling. The two girls made their way quickly out of Ravenclaw Tower, Lyra mumbling the whole way about how she didn't know what had happened, she didn't remember being hurt, she didn't even remember going to bed... Rose had to remind her to breathe deeply in between 'I don't remember's.

Rose had only been to the hospital wing once before, but judging by the look of consternation on Madam Pomfrey's face when they arrived, Lyra had been there too many times before. "What's happened this time?" the matron asked, but then she seemed to noticed the glassy, absent look on Lyra's face, and turned to Rose. "Do you know what happened to her?"

"No," Rose replied earnestly, "and neither does she."

She explained how she had found Lyra asleep and how Lyra couldn't remember going to sleep, let alone getting hurt. Madam Pomfrey's frown deepened as she tried to heal Lyra's cuts but found they were magically inflicted. They would heal with bandaging, treatment, and time, but the fact they had been made with a spell seemed to worry Madam Pomfrey — and though Rose didn't know what other explanation she had expected, it worried her too. It worried her further when Madam Pomfrey tested them both for Cerembrous Spattergroit and they didn't have it, because immediately afterwards the matron sent for their Head of House and the Headmistress.

McGonagall arrived with Flitwick in tow. They repeated the same questions that Madam Pomfrey had asked — what was the last thing Lyra remembered, did anyone remember her returning to the tower, had anyone tried to hurt her before? — but at the same time Flitwick cast a few spells to check for enchantments. He went to consult with the headmistress, but they were just close enough that Rose heard him say in a hushed voice, "Her memory has definitely been modified..."

After questioning Rose about the incident and learning that she hadn't seen Lyra go to bed and had no definite knowledge of her being there that morning, Flitwick went off in search of their dorm-mates. Lyra had been bandaged and given some kind of blood-regrowth potion, and so was looking a little more present as Professor McGonagall repeated the spells Flitwick had tried and told Lyra outright that someone had used a memory charm on her.

"Why would someone want me to forget going to bed?" Lyra asked anxiously. "Because they hurt me and they don't want anyone to find out it was them? Why did they want to hurt me in the first place?"

"I don't know," Professor McGonagall replied stiffly. "This is beyond a harmless prank, however. We will discover who did this and they will most certainly be expelled."

" _ Expelled? _ " she squeaked. "But what if it was an accident? Or they just didn't know..."

"Miss Jones, this kind of memory charm could only have been done by one of the older students – OWL level or higher, I would say. Trust me when I say they know the consequences of attacking another student." She turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, you are certain these will heal?"

"Yes, it's just a Severing Charm or something similar. I thought at first it might be a curse; that would explain why they needed her to forget."

Professor McGonagall was then called out to join Flitwick in interviewing Rose and Lyra's dorm-mates, and Madam Pomfrey shooed Rose out after her.

Aimée, Isobel, and Meghan were waiting outside with Flitwick. Meghan looked nervous and Isobel straightened her robes as she saw Professor McGonagall approaching. Flitwick nodded to the headmistress and cleared his throat. "Thank you for waiting, girls," he said, a grave tone to his usually jovial voice. "The headmistress and I wanted to ask you about the whereabouts of your dorm-mate Lyra, yesterday and this morning."

"She's not missing, is she?" Meghan asked, wide-eyed. "I only saw her just this morning!"

"Are you certain, Miss Lewis?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply. "You saw Lyra this morning? In your dormitory?"

Meghan nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. She was asleep, but she was there. Her bed's next to mine and she snores. Is she alright?"

"Miss Jones is fine," Flitwick assured her. "We are just trying to trace her movements."

"Did any of you see her go to bed last night?" McGonagall asked briskly. Meghan shook her head and Aimée replied in the negative. Isobel looked pensive.

"Well, no," Isobel answered finally. "But she's often late to bed. I'd guess she was with Scorpius in the Common Room. She really ought to get more sleep — she's never paying attention in History of Magic. But if she was doing something wrong, Scorpius would probably be in on it. They're always making trouble—"

"Thank you, Miss Arthurs," Professor McGonagall interrupted. "We may need to speak to you four again later, but for now, you are free to go."

Rose followed the others down the hall. When they were out of earshot, Isobel puller her aside and asked her, "Do you know what Lyra's done now? I hope she hasn't lost us too many points."

Rose checked over her shoulder before replying, "She hasn't done anything, Isobel; she was attacked. I found her in the dormitory with her robes on and cut all over. She can't remember what happened at all!"

To her surprise, Isobel looked unimpressed. "That  _ would _ be her story," the other girl said, rolling her eyes. "She's probably managed to make a cooking charm backfire somehow, or trip over a suit of armour. It must be something pretty stupid if she's pretending she can't remember it."

The sight of Lyra's glassy-eyed, absent look came into Rose's mind and she shook her head firmly. "No, she was telling the truth, I'm sure of it. Professor McGonagall said someone had used a Memory Charm on her. What if—"

Isobel's blue eyes narrowed. "Don't, Rose. Leave it to the teachers. Merlin knows we don't need you running off trying to solve the mystery of 'how did Lyra mess up this time' when we're coming third in the House Cup already."

"Do you really care more about House points than whether a girl has been attacked and had her memory wiped  _ in our own dormitory? _ "

"I trust that the teachers will take care of it," Isobel replied pointedly. "See you later, Rose."

Isobel disappeared after Meghan and Aimée, leaving Rose standing alone in the hall. Rose couldn't argue with Isobel that it wasn't her job to find out who had attacked Lyra, if there was indeed such a person. But whoever it was had been in Ravenclaw Tower — probably even in the first year girls' dormitory, and none of them had been any the wiser. Even Charlie, she realised with a stirring of unease. Her cat was usually a decent guard, and she knew that he would have woken her if a stranger had been in the dormitory.

It should have been reassuring that it was someone they knew — that played into McGonagall's theory of an older student, rather than there being some kind of escaped mass murderer in the castle. But somehow the idea that she knew the person, that they had probably said good morning at breakfast and she would unknowingly see them at dinner tonight just made her skin crawl. And why would someone hurt Lyra, of all people? She was irritating at times and hopeless in class, but that was what made it so baffling. Lyra was, by nature, completely harmless. Albus was more likely to make trouble than her.

Albus. Any other day she would go straight to him and Elin, but more than likely he would think she was making an excuse to talk to him again without apologising — and she wasn't going to apologise for something that was his fault, or at least, not hers. Maybe he would think she was being too serious about it. Strike that, if Isobel thought she was being too serious, Albus and Elin  _ definitely _ would. Maybe it was for the best not to get Ellie involved anyway, considering that her mum would probably pull her out of school the minute she heard about a student being attacked, and Rose knew that Ellie hated lying to her mother almost as much as she hated the thought of leaving Hogwarts.

That left Rose rather firmly on her own. Her other cousins were all busy and would probably think she was out of her mind. She considered telling Eleanor Bones, but they hardly knew each other and Eleanor's mother might find out. The only person who  _ might _ share Rose's curiosity was Lyra herself, and she looked to be stuck in the hospital wing for a few days. After that, Rose would have to find her at a moment when she wasn't with Scorpius...

Damn it.  _ Scorpius _ .

For a moment, Rose thought he might have done it himself — maybe Lyra had followed him to some secret meeting place of Death Eater descendents or something and he had struck out at her by accident. That theory vanished quickly, however — Scorpius didn't have the skill in Charms to perform either spell, especially the memory charm, and Rose reluctantly admitted to herself that she really didn't believe he would hurt his best friend. But he would know where she'd been, who had it in for her, even if she was in the dormitory when she was attacked — and he, too, would be wanting to know the truth.

Rose swore loudly.

"Mind your language," reprimanded one of the portraits. Rose ignored it and set out in search of Scorpius Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The Dobby part was actually one of the first things I wrote for this fic. I'm currently working on a one-shot about how that painting was made. Thank you to everybody who's reading this fic, kudosing (they make my day), and special thanks to liberosis for taking the time to leave a comment! It made a pretty crappy week a lot brighter.
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing!


	13. Chapter 12: Enemy Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Bullying; references to malicious use of memory-modification charms; gratuitous use of alliteration.

Scorpius had certain reservations about this plan. The main one was the inclusion of Rose "My nose belongs in other people's business" Weasley, but it was her plan so that was inevitable. He hadn't realised just how much he disliked her until she was laying down the law and giving orders.

He had been waiting outside the hospital wing after being interrogated by Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, with Madam Pomfrey stalwartly refusing to let him in. Lyra was fine, she assured him, but she and several other patients were resting and didn't need to be worried by visitors. He had been about to walk away when Madam Pomfrey had looked over his shoulder and added, "That includes you, Miss Weasley."

Now they were hiding in a distant corner of the library, with a dozen books on ghosts between them. Rose had managed to weasel out him the fact that Lyra had been trying to find the Grey Lady, which led her to believe that Lyra had discovered what was happening to the ghosts and somebody needed to stop her from remembering. Scorpius had pointed out a few problems with that idea, mainly that Lyra could hardly have just stumbled across some evil sorcery at work when the Spirit Division workers hadn't had any luck, and that even if she had, would someone cruel enough to deliberately torture all the ghosts in the castle _really_ worry about taking Lyra back to her dormitory to tuck her in? They had argued for a while before Rose suggested her plan; now they were reading in sullen silence, looking for hints to what Lyra might have found.

Scorpius checked his watch for a third time. Madam Pomfrey took a break for dinner in twenty minutes. Meanwhile, he and Rose would be taking the food they had begged from the house elves up to the hospital wing for Lyra and use the opportunity to question her. They would have no luck with that scheme while Madam Pomfrey was there — she would simply take the food to Lyra herself, if not refuse it altogether. Eva Sandsguard, however, was in the habit of dining late and would be left in charge while Pomfrey was away. Scorpius had never known Eva to turn away a visitor unless she thought they were there to aggravate the visitee — she openly believed that good company was the best medicine.

Rose, who had spent very little time in the hospital wing, had simply assumed that Eva was a bit dim and they would be able to sneak past her. Scorpius had warned her against it. "Ms Sandsguard's not halfway to being a Healer for nothing. She'll notice if we try to sneak in and she'll ban us until Lyra's well. I've seen her do it to your cousin Dominique when James was in there. She tried to get in through the window on her broom."

Rose had pursed her lips at that. "Well, of course no one wants to let Dom into a hospital," she'd said irritably, but Scorpius had assured her that if they wanted to look responsible, they should just ask to be let in.

"Rose," he whispered, after checking to see if Madam Pince was watching them. "It's time to go."

Rose closed _Unravelling the Undead_ with a sigh. "There's nothing in these, anyway," she said, exasperated. "They all say that ghosts can't be harmed by definition, not by each other, not by anyone. No wonder Nearly Headless Nick's always complaining the Headless Hunt won't let him in if that tiny bit of neck is going to be there forever, no matter what. I did wonder why he was making such a fuss."

"The headless what?"

"The Headless Hunt. A group of headless ghosts from the Middle Ages who go riding around England together. Nick told Albus he's always wanted to join them, but they won't let him because he's only _nearly_ headless."

"Isn't he too busy being the Gryffindor ghost to be riding around the countryside?" Scorpius asked, a little too loudly — Madam Pince emerged from behind a bookshelf with an angry, " _SHHHHH!"_ They nodded frantically and hurried away.

The hallways were lit by candles along the way to the hospital wing, but at the top of the staircase beamed a clinical bluish light. It seemed harsh and eerie as they approached, and Scorpius, clutching a tin of biscuits the house elves had all but forced upon him, felt suddenly that the whole scheme was painfully transparent and they'd be in detention before they could fake a nasty cough. Rose, too, looked a little paler under her freckles. But as he paused, about to ask if they shouldn't really just wait until morning, Rose took a deep breath and marched straight into the hospital wing.

Scorpius hurried to catch up with her and entered to find Eva Sandsguard talking sternly to a fifth year Hufflepuff boy. "I'm letting you out on the condition that you'll be here tomorrow morning at eight o'clock sharp for another dose of elixir, understand? If you don't show up, Poppy will have you back in here for the next week and she'll probably tie you to your bed to boot."

The Hufflepuff boy eagerly agreed and raced past Scorpius and out the door. Eva noticed them waiting and smiled. "I hope you’re just here to see Lyra, Scorpius. One of you needs to stay out of trouble for more than a week."

"We wanted to bring her some food," Rose piped up, emphasising the _we_ and giving Scorpius a look.

Eva raised an eyebrow. "Well, _we_ do feed people here, you know," she said wryly. Rose blushed.

"I also brought her a book," Scorpius said hastily, producing the library's copy of _Voyages with Vampires_.

Eva rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll let you in. Just try to keep your voices down so you don't disturb the other students."

Thanking her, they made their way to the bed at the far end of the room. Lyra was asleep, bandaged arms hanging off the side of the bed. She was wearing a nightgown and her slashed robes were hanging from a hook next to the bed. Scorpius shook her shoulder gently and her eyes flew open. "Scorpius?" She sat up, looking around anxiously. "I only arrived here this morning, right? I haven't forgotten anything?"

She looked terrified. "No, you're fine," he told her quietly.

"Memory Charms don't cause brain damage," Rose added. Scorpius wasn't sure that was entirely true — his mother had frequently reminded him that all spells that affected your mind could be overdone and to always, _always_ be careful — but for once, Rose's know-it-all tone was reassuring, so he didn't say anything.

Rose continued, "We've come to ask you what you remember from last night. I know there are things you can't tell the teachers, like how you've been searching for the Grey—"

"But you can tell us," Scorpius said earnestly. "We'll find out what happened, even if the teachers can't."

Lyra looked at the two of them, baffled, but seemed to realise that they were serious. She turned back to Scorpius. "So... You're going to play Sherlock Holmes and _Rose_ is helping you?" Scorpius just shrugged, so she turned to Rose. "Did they get you too? Did you forget that _we aren't friends_?" Scorpius could tell by the look on Lyra's face that the question had come out harsher than she'd intended, but she pressed her lips into a tense line and awaited an answer.

Rose rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Honestly, Lyra, just because we don't get on doesn't mean I'm alright with someone attacking you in the middle of the night! Besides that, my cat Charlie's half-kneazle and he didn't wake me last night, so whoever brought you back in must have been someone he knew, someone in Ravenclaw!"

"Rose is helping because she needs to know everything all the time," Scorpius clarified, and continued before Rose could object. "We brought you some food from the kitchens, but if you want us to come back in the morning, we'll just leave it with you."

Lyra's stomach made a timely gurgle. "What kind of food?" she asked.

Rose answered by dumping the bag she'd been carrying onto the bed. "A sandwich," she began, pulling out a large roll filled with meat and salad. "I think it's turkey. Some scones, bread and cheese, what I'm fairly sure is half a Christmas pudding, a tin of biscuits and a thermos of hot cocoa." She put the thermos down on the little table next to bed with the other foods they'd brought. "And Scorpius borrowed you a book."

Lyra took _Voyages with Vampires_ in slightly shaky hands and placed it in her lap. She was sitting up now, and for all their explanations she just looked more bewildered than ever. "You didn't need to bring me all this food just to interrogate me," she said, smiling faintly as she reached over to take the sandwich. "Not that I'm complaining. I haven't eaten all day, everyone's been so busy asking me questions." She took a large bite of the sandwich. "Alright", she said after swallowing. "Your offerings have been accepted. Ask away."

They pulled up chairs as quietly as they could and after a moment, Scorpius asked, "Why weren't you in the common room after dinner? Do you remember going back to the tower?"

Lyra paled a little and took another bite of the sandwich, avoiding their eyes. "I... I wasn't in the tower. It was to late to get in with someone else and I... I can't hear the riddles."

"Do you mean you can't guess the answers?" Rose asked, but Lyra shook her head.

"I can't _hear_ them," Lyra repeated, her voice quiet. "I think it's because I... Well, I'm not really s'pposed to be in Ravenclaw and so whenever I use the knocker my head starts to hurt and my hearing goes all fuzzy and I..." She broke off. She didn't seem able to look at either of them, but Scorpius and Rose weren't looking at her either. They were staring at each other in the way Ravenclaw students tended to when they figured out the door knocker's riddle at the exact same moment.

"It's a jinx," said Rose, just as Scorpius said, "That sounds like a jinx."

Sniffing, Lyra looked up. "So the door knocker is jinxing me?" she asked.

"No," Rose replied solemnly. "I think somebody else is jinxing you so you can't get into the tower."

"And remember that time before Christmas?" Scorpius added suddenly. "Someone hit you with a Festering Hex from behind! Someone has it in for you and I _bet_ it's someone in Ravenclaw if they knew about the riddles."

"Do you think it has something to do with the ghosts?" Rose asked.

Lyra shook her head. "It started before then, but last night I remember... There was something about a ghost, I think I saw one..." She closed her eyes, trying to think. "I think I saw something the colour of a ghost, but I don't know. I just can't remember!"

"If the teachers haven't tried removing the Memory Charm yet, that means it's too strong to break through," Rose said matter-of-factly. "Don't strain yourself. You've been out after dark before because of this, haven't you?"

Lyra nodded tearfully. "I couldn't tell Professor McGonagall about it, or Professor Flitwick. They'd think I was lying and take more points away for me being out of bed, and then even more people would hate me for being so stupid..."

"Nobody hates you, Lyra," Scorpius said, surprised.

"The prefects do."

"Rubbish," he replied. "Do you think Ji-Hye's complaining about your wand wood not matching its core? Do you think Jay's trying to curse you with his rotting eggs?"

“I think the only reason Craig might hate you is because you don’t have to make career choices for years,” Rose added wryly.

Lyra laughed, in that oddly wet way one does when they've been crying just before.

"Al-Alright," she said, hiccuping. "They probably don't, but... But Edgar told me they were all really angry with me for messing up so much. He acted like they'd all been talking about it."

"Then he lied," Scorpius said firmly. "Don't worry, we'll find out who’s been jinxing you and we'll take them straight to Professor McGonagall. You won't be in any trouble."

They talked to her for a while longer until Madam Pomfrey appeared and shooed them out. They left Lyra reading _Voyages with Vampires_ , looking significantly happier than when she woke up. Scorpius felt his mind sharpen, braced by the task he and Rose had set for themselves. He had been tired an hour ago, but now he was ready to go investigating. Hopefully, so was his fellow detective.

Rose's curiosity didn't let him down. "There's time enough to check the library records before bed," she declared. "Memory charms are taught in seventh year, but the Festering Hex isn't taught anywhere and I doubt that 'earplugging jinx' or whatever it is would be either. We've just got to find out who's borrowed books on both of them early in the school year."

This was easier said than done, and they had barely begun trying to find out what the muffling jinx was before Madam Pince appeared and sharply told them to go to bed.

"We're so sorry, Madam Pince," Rose said immediately. "I was just looking for this book I came across before Christmas, it had a particularly interesting passage on the definition of a spell that I wanted to quote in my Charms essay, but I can't find it anywhere. It had some jinx on the next page, something about muffling someone's hearing every time a certain thing happens, it was called, um..."

It was a bold move, particularly with the notoriously cranky Madam Pince, but as it turned out the thunderous look that appeared on her face was not directed at Rose. " _Silencing and Silence_ has been stolen, Miss Weasley," Madam Pince said darkly. "If the perpetrator cannot be found and punished soon, I will do my best to find another copy. In the meantime, you can come back _tomorrow_ and try _An Encyclopedia of Charms_ for your essay." And with that parting remark, she pushed them both out into the hallway.

They didn't dare speak until they were climbing the stairs to Ravenclaw Tower. " _Silencing and Silence_ ," Scorpius said finally. "Do you think it's the one?"

"It's been stolen, it sounds like it's full of charms for making people shut up and blocking them from hearing, and it's rare enough that Madam Pince can’t just order another copy. I would bet on it."

"Really? I bet you a chocolate frog we're on the completely wrong track," Scorpius replied, feeling oddly jovial for this hour of the night. "But let's see if we can get into the older students’ dormitories and have a look at their bookshelves. A lot of stolen library books end up there."

"Don't tell Madam Pince that," Rose said gravely. "We'll be murdered in our beds."

* * *

 

The next morning, Scorpius tried to look inconspicuous as he counted up the fifth, sixth, and seventh years who were sitting down to breakfast. The fifth years were accounted for — six girls and five boys — and all the sixth year _girls_ were there, a group of eight, but three of the four boys were nowhere to be found. The seventh years were ten in all, equally divided between the genders, and they came wandering into the Great Hall in dribs and drabs, all bleary-eyed and evidently straining under the pressure of NEWTs.

Rose was on the other side of the table, a few feet closer to the sixth year group. He wished that she was a little more subtle — she wasn't taking her eyes off the empty space where they sixth year boys usually sat, not even to watch what she was doing, which resulted in her missing her mouth a few times when she tried to eat a piece of bacon. Scorpius looked away, suddenly realising that _he_ was staring now, and ate a spoonful of his porridge, trying not to feel too terrified. When he had suggested it the night before, checking the dormitories seemed like the logical next step. Now he was acutely aware of just how many people lived in those dormitories and could come in at any moment to find himself and Rose rummaging through their bookcases.

He looked up from his bowl to find the three remaining sixth year boys sitting down at the table. Edgar Young, the prefect, was gaunt, dark-haired and looked irritable; the other two, Cyril and Macgregor, looked tired but greeted their housemates cheerfully enough. Cyril was a Chaser on the Quidditch team, small but wiry, with narrow rectangular glasses perched on his nose; Macgregor was bigger than his peers, auburn haired and frequently found in the library, researching. All of them were capable enough wizards to be suspects.

Scorpius realised that Rose had finally torn her eyes away from the group and was hurriedly eating her breakfast. He took a moment to count the seventh years — all ten were there. He started wolfing down his porridge as inconspicuously as he could.

Ten minutes later, he met an impatient Rose on the stairs. "I thought you were never going to finish eating," she said, breaking into a jog as they reached the top of the stairs. Scorpius pulled a face at her as they raced towards Ravenclaw Tower.

"At least I wasn't staring at everyone," he finally retorted, panting, when they reached the entrance to the common room. Rose ignored him and rapped the door knocker.

The bronze eagle opened its eyes lazily. " _Who arrives when others leave and departs when they return?_ "

"'Who' meaning 'what'," Rose added, and Scorpius nodded. One of the first tricks you learnt with the knocker was that it saw feelings as personified beings, or 'who's. "Sorrow, do you think? If it's people you really love who are leaving?"

Scorpius thought furiously. "What about 'loneliness'? That way you don't have to like them. Loneliness arrives when others leave."

The door did not open.

Rose grimaced. "No, I think it might be... Solitude! Solitude arrives when others leave and departs when they return."

" _Well worded_ ," said the eagle, and the door swung open.

"Whoever jinxed Lyra must be a complete bastard," Rose said unexpectedly.

Scorpius stared at her. "What?"

"Well, those questions are hard enough already when you're tired or worried. Imagine arriving at the door and not being able to hear them! It'd be a nightmare, especially if it were getting late and there was no one to let you in."

There was no one in the common room, but they lowered their voices nonetheless — some of the younger students might be sleeping in. Scorpius damned himself for not counting them too and turned to Rose. "I'll take the boys' dormitory, you take the girls'." He knew he couldn't get into the girls' dormitories — he'd tried to find Lyra once and ricocheted right up the stairs.

"Alright," Rose said, sounding a good deal braver than Scorpius felt. "Fifth years first."

Scorpius's first impression of the fifth year boys' dormitory was that it smelt awful. The cause was immediately apparent — one bed had several tubs of eggs piled up next to it, many of which were clearly off. Jay's tools of ovomancy, evidently. Scorpius tried to ignore the stench as he looked through the bookshelf. Dozens of texts on divination, several tomes on the personalities of plants, fifth and sixth year textbooks, _So You Want To Pass Your OWLs Without Dying_ , _A History of Wizarding Education, OWLs — Why The World Doesn't Need Them (And Why You Do)_... Aside from an intense feeling of trepidation about his Ordinary Wizarding Levels in over four years time, Scorpius found nothing in the fifth year boys dormitory. He double-checked under the beds and found more eggs under Jay's before leaving. Hopefully, no one in sixth year had an interest in egg-reading.

At first, sixth-year looked to be equally unfulfilling — aside from being neater and having employment pamphlets instead of books about OWLs, it looked more or less the same. There were no library books in the bookshelf aside from a book of love poetry from the time of the Founders, which Scorpius didn't think would have any jinxes in it that didn't rhyme with 'rival' or 'scorned'. He began checking under the first bed — and there it was, topping a neat stack of Hogwarts library books carefully piled under the foot of the bed. Scorpius pulled out the book and looked at the cover — _Silencing and Silence_ by Albert S. Hushing. It had a bookmark sticking out the top, marking the chapter titled _Selective Silence_ and beginning with instructions of how to perform something called the Delineated Deafness Jinx...

Scorpius glanced at a half-finished essay on the bedside table — the name on it was Edgar Young. He raced down the the bottom of the stairs and called up, "Rose! ROSE!"

"Keep your voice down!" Rose protested, appearing from the above landing, but her eyes widened when he showed her the book. "Where was it?"

"Up here," he said, and she followed him into the sixth year boys' dormitory. He pulled up the blankets that were hiding Edgar's pile of stolen library books. "It was on top of these."

Rose knelt to look at the other books. "I'll bet he found the Festering Hex in _Extended Hexing_ ," she said, flipping open the contents page. "Look, there it is! Page fifty three. He hasn't got that one marked, though — maybe it's easier to learn—"

" _What the hell are you doing?!_ "

Scorpius nearly jumped out of his skin. Edgar Young was standing in the doorway, looking furious with his wand pointed right at them. He had already started an incantation when Rose yelled, " _Tarantallegra!_ "

Immediately, Edgar's legs started kicking out in a kind of frantic riverdance. Scorpius grabbed Rose's hand and they ran past him and out of the dormitory, narrowly avoiding the hex he had managed to send their way.

"That won't stop him for long," Rose said frantically as they raced out of the common room and down the spiral staircase, Scorpius still clutching _Silencing and Silence._ "We need to find a teacher!"

"Flitwick's office," Scorpius replied, turning down the nearest corridor. "This way!"

They ran as fast as they could, hearing Edgar following them, shouting and sending hexes left and right. The portraits were yelling at them, some screaming when their frames were hit by Edgar's spells, but the two first years didn't stop. Rose took a moment to use the Dancing Feet Jinx on a suit of armour, which cancaned loudly behind them, blocking Edgar's way. They finally reached Professor Flitwick's office and wrenched the door open, falling inside.

The little old man blinked at them over his desk as if he didn't quite understand what he was seeing. Rose pulled up a chair against the door and Scorpius barred it with a tall ornate lamp. It was only when they made for the china cabinet in the corner that Flitwick found his voice. "Miss Weasley, Mister Malfoy! What are you _doing_?"

"Professor Flitwick, Edgar's trying to kill us!" Rose said, jumping when a loud knocking started outside.

"Edgar?" Flitwick looked perplexed. "Edgar Young? Is that him outside?"

" _You two fucking let me in and give me back that book!_ "

"He's been jinxing Lyra," Scorpius said breathlessly. "So she couldn't hear the riddles and she got stuck out of the common room at night. We found this book under his bed!" He dumped _Silencing and Silence_ on the desk.

"YOU LET ME IN OR I'LL CURSE THIS DOOR OFF ITS HINGES!"

Flitwick took the book and opened it to the bookmarked page. His face darkened. "I think we'd better talk without that racket outside." Calmly, he waved his wand and the chair and lamp pulled away from the door. Edgar burst in, looking wild, but before he could do anything Flitwick waved his wand again — Edgar's body went rigid and he fell backwards; Flitwick caught him with another spell before he hit the ground. The Charms master levitated the frozen prefect into a chair and turned back to the two first years. "Now," he said gently, "if you could start at the beginning?"

* * *

 

The sixth year boys were giving Rose and Scorpius dirty looks at dinner, but they were easily distracted by the fact that Dorian had decided they were absolute legends for getting Edgar Young expelled.

"I _knew_ there was something wrong with him," Dorian said for the third time that day. "Nobody can care about the House Cup that much and not be deranged."

'Deranged' was perhaps a little strong, but Edgar Young was, as it turned out, one of the worst bullies Hogwarts had seen in years. When he had protested that Rose and Scorpius had set him up and gone around the school complaining about it, no less than seven others from various years had come forward individually to report similar bullying. Several of them had already discovered that he was the one jinxing and Hexing them throughout their days, but he had found it easy to convince them that a high-scoring, well behaved prefect would always be believed over the underachieving misfits he was in the habit of targeting. When they realised that they weren't alone, however, they had emerged in force.

"Of course, he's already got his OWLs and he hasn't done anything illegal enough to snap his wand," Dorian continued, looking disappointed. Imogen elbowed him.

"Cheer up, kid. I heard he had an employer all lined up for the end of this year, but now McGonagall's planning to have a word with them about his behaviour. And if you've ever had a word from McGonagall..." Imogen smiled victoriously. "I don't think he'll be getting that job. Arsehole."

They continued to happily badmouth Edgar, but Scorpius wasn't listening. He and Rose had found the culprit, solved the crime, saved the day — except they hadn't. None of the books found in Edgar's possession had been related to ghosts or memory charms, and he and his friends had sworn up and down they had been in the room beneath the fifth years' dormitories — it was usually only used by OWL and NEWT students for study, though there were rumours that Rowena Ravenclaw had built it because she believed they ought to have more years in school, powerful number seven be damned. Edgar's testimony in its own was moot, and that of his friends was suspect, but two students who had gone down there for late night study had corroborated their story. Lyra, now assured that she wouldn't be in trouble for being out late, had confirmed that she wasn't in the tower that night, and it was concluded that Edgar could not have been behind the memory charm or the related attack. Scorpius wondered if Lyra knew that Edgar had been expelled and resolved to go see her in the hospital wing after dinner.

Rose, who was sitting next to him, didn't seem to be too interested in the conversation either. He wondered what she was thinking. Was it simply that being a big hero hadn't brought her the attention she wanted? Or was she, like him, more concerned that a ghost-torturing, memory-removing nutter was still loose in the halls of Hogwarts?

Whatever the reason, when he excused himself from dinner to go visit Lyra, Rose left with him. She was remarkably quiet on the walk up to the hospital wing, only speaking when they were near the top of the staircase. "Scorpius?" she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I could ever end up like him? Like Edgar? Hurting people because I didn't think they were smart enough?"

Scorpius paused and considered. "I don't know. Before yesterday I would've said yes, but now... I don't think so."

Rose stared at him. "I don't know if that's a backhanded compliment or a fronthanded insult," she said finally.

Scorpius smiled at her. "Neither. It's proper compliment. Come on, I need to break the news to Lyra that you aren't really a massive jerk."

Rose rolled her eyes and they plodded up the last of the steps to the hospital wing. They stopped just inside, seeing Lyra had a visitor — Professor Flitwick.

"... but it isn't just that," they heard Lyra say, sniffing. "I'm just rubbish at everything, I—" She looked away from him, then said, in a voice so quiet Scorpius barely heard it, "I'm sorry I'm so stupid."

"Miss Jones. Lyra," Professor Flitwick said, and despite his squeaky voice he sounded grave. "This may be a school, but it has also been the home to young witches and wizards for hundreds of years. Never think that your marks, high or low, make you unworthy of attention or safety. An old headmaster was fond of saying, 'There will always be help given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.' I stand by that."

Lyra smiled faintly, wiping the tears off her face with the heels of her hands. "Thank you, Professor."

"That's quite alright," Flitwick replied, getting down from his chair. "Well, Professor McGonagall and I have a new Ravenclaw prefect to select, so I'll be off. And if you would like any additional instruction in Charms, I would be delighted. With a little more control, I believe your spellwork will be quite exceptional."

Lyra looked dubious, but Flitwick was already walking away. He smiled at Scorpius and Rose as he passed them.

They gave Lyra a moment to blow her nose, then came running forward. Lyra had been sitting on the bed, but once she saw them she was up in an instant and pulling Scorpius into a hug. He hugged her back, a little tighter than usual. For all her worrying about school, he had never realised that she genuinely believed that she was stupid, or how much it evidently upset her.

When they broke apart, Lyra turned to Rose. They stood awkwardly for a second before nodding to each other rather formally.

"Lyra," Scorpius interrupted, saving them from further awkwardness. "If you want help with Potions, I can tutor you, if you'd like?"

Lyra looked at him oddly, then smiled. "You only want to be doing Potions instead of practising Transfiguration."

"Yep!" he replied cheerfully. "And if you ever need a hand with the Dancing Feet Jinx I think I know someone who can help." He nodded towards Rose, who blushed when he added, "Rose stopped Edgar with a dancing suit of armour."

"It didn't actually stop him," Rose said hastily. "I don't even know if it slowed him down. Besides, I only know that jinx because my cousin Dom taught it to me." She looked faintly guilty.

Madam Pomfrey came to shoo them out later, but by that point Scorpius was feeling a little better about the whole thing. Maybe there were dangerous people at large in the school, but at least he knew that he wasn't alone.


	14. Chapter 13: Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidditch, woo! But not everyone's at the top of their game.
> 
> Warnings: Quidditch-typical violence, jokes about incest, family members attempting to control friendships, Rose swears like a sailor.
> 
> (For reference, Niamh is pronounced (roughly) "Neeve" or "Nee-av".)

After the first two matches of the season, Slytherin and Ravenclaw were almost tied in first place. Ravenclaw was ahead by ten points, but in Quidditch, due to the capture of the Snitch, all that could change in an instant. Scorpius had pointed out the problematic element of this to Rose, who discovered that in addition to a fear of flying he had very little interest in sport. She had spent half a History of Magic lesson explaining the finer points of Quidditch tactics until he finally accepted the importance of the Snitch when she pointed out that the element of chance gave the prouder players an excuse for losing on occasion.

He had still been reluctant to go to that Saturday's Quidditch match, but she and Lyra had managed to pull him out of the common room eventually. He had his Transfiguration homework with him, of course, but he was wearing his blue and bronze scarf and hat and so could safely pass as someone who cared if nobody noticed the copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ tucked under his arm.

Rose could not exactly say when she, Scorpius and Lyra became friends. After the expulsion of Edgar Young, she had initially gone back to sitting with Isobel and Aimée in class — she and Albus were still not speaking to each other, which made sitting next to Ellie a little awkward as Albus tended to be on her other side. Unfortunately, Isobel didn't exactly approve of her escapades resulting in the expulsion of a prefect and made her disapproval felt. Any other time Rose wouldn't have been bothered by it, as being haughty and disapproving was just Isobel's way, but now that she knew there were others who didn't think she was mad to want to investigate all these goings on, she found herself increasingly riled up by Isobel’s willful ignorance. Someday, by choice or happenstance she couldn't remember, she had wound up sitting next to Scorpius and Lyra in History of Magic and argued with the former about Quidditch instead of taking notes, which had somehow resulted in the most fun she'd ever had in Binns' class. She and Lyra had discussed Muggle fairy tales in Charms, as Rose's mother had read them to her when she was young and Lyra had read at least five versions of the most popular ones and had a large collection of Hans Christian Andersen tales on her bedside shelf. The class had ended with Lyra promising to lend her said book, which she did, and somehow, that was that. Rose Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy, and Lyra Jones were friends.

It had only been a week, of course, and soon enough they might all have a huge fight and never speak to each other again, but Rose was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

"So every house plays the other houses once, which makes six matches," she was explaining to Lyra as they made their way through the snow towards the Quidditch pitch. Scorpius was shuffling along behind them, evidently in a world of his own. "There aren't playoffs like in the World Cup where a team is eliminated for losing. The winner is the team that scores the most points overall, regardless of how many matches they've won. Our team won the match against Hufflepuff, and Slytherin won the match against Gryffindor, but more importantly they have almost the same number of points. We'll want to put some distance between our score and theirs with this match, but the problem is that Slytherin will be thinking the same thing. If it's too close, then we're dependent on how the other houses play against Slytherin and each other."

"Don't we have a match against Gryffindor, though?" Lyra asked. "We could win the points back then."

"Well, yes," Rose admitted, still reluctant to think about the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match. "It's at the end of the year, though, and Gryffindor are generally the stronger team of them and Hufflepuff, or so I've heard. Best to have the assurance of beating Slytherin soundly today than nearly tying and worrying about them destroying Hufflepuff later in the year."

"You would think the Gryffindors are better," Lyra said, laughing. "Isn't half your family on the team?"

"Only four of them," Rose said, smiling a little. "Isaac and Robert aren't related to me, and neither's Evelyn, though I think Fred would marry her if he could, she's such a good Chaser."

"You could have a house all your own," Lyra said. "They already nearly have the Weasley Quidditch team!"

"James is a Potter," Rose corrected.

"As is he makes pots? Or is that his last name?"

"His last name. Haven't you heard of Harry Potter yet?"

"Vaguely, but I don't know what he actually did. Who is he?"

"Well, he's my uncle," Rose began, but stopped when Lyra laughed. "What?"

"Are you related to everyone? Are all wizards related to each other? Are you and Scorpius secret cousins or something?"

Scorpius looked up at the sound of his name. "Oh, not cousins," he replied, looking startled. "Well, not close cousins. My second cousin is Rose's uncle's godson and I think he dated the Gryffindor Seeker at some point, who's also your cousin, isn't she, Rose?"

"Yes, and they're still dating," Rose said, ignoring Lyra's incredulous look. "My cousin Lily — she's not at Hogwarts yet, so I write to her — keeps asking me if they're going to get married soon. She adores Teddy."

"You two are so inbred I'm surprised you both only have four limbs," Lyra told them affectionately.

They got down to the pitch and made their way into the stands. The stands were already crowded, but they managed to find three seats together near the back. The Hufflepuffs were sitting with the Slytherins and the Gryffindors with the Ravenclaws, but only to oppose their rivals. When the Hufflepuff/Slytherin and Gryffindor/Ravenclaw matches rolled around, there would be no mercy. _After all_ , Rose thought, a _ll's fair in love and Quidditch._

They sat down and Scorpius immediately opened his book to the chapter on the fundamentals of animal-to-object Transfiguration. He caught the look that Rose sent him and shrugged. "I need to finish this essay for Monday."

Lyra made a face. "Mine's half done. I keep thinking that all this reading should help me get the fur off my snuffbox, but all I've managed is to lose a few whiskers."

Rose was about to announce that she had finished her essay the afternoon it had been assigned, but thought better of it. Instead, she said, "Maybe we should have a study group. You know, help each other with the things we don't understand. And," she added, struck by inspiration, "we might bring up a few other questions too."

Scorpius looked up from the book to frown at her. "Questions like what?"

"Maybe, 'Who would want to torture ghosts?', 'What on earth attacked me?' and 'What the hell is going on?'," Lyra suggested cheerfully. "Or maybe we could start a betting pool on which of the Quidditch players will spend the most time in the hospital wing. Either could be fun."

Lyra seemed happier now that she could safely make her way into the common room each night. Flitwick had managed to lift the jinx that stopped her from hearing the riddles, and Rose now made it her business to check every night that no one was stuck outside the common room. She had found a few of people out there over the past week, mulling over the riddle, but Lyra hadn't been among them. It seemed she had a talent for lateral thinking.

"That sounds reasonable," Scorpius said, returning to his book. "On Fridays, maybe?"

Rose and Lyra agreed to Friday afternoons as a good time for a study group and settled down to watch the match. Felix had managed to get himself detention that Saturday so Dominique has graciously offered to replace him as commentator.

If the teachers were hoping for a more impartial commentator, they were going to be disappointed.

"Welcome to the third Quidditch match of the year. I'm your host, Dominique, and the teams today are the dirty cheating Slytherin and the equally dirty rule-following Ravenclaw!"

There were cheers and boos, and Professor Longbottom gestured to Dom to tone it down. She mustn't have seen him, because she continued: "The captains are shaking hands now, and boy does Ravenclaw's Lark Iselguard look like she wants to punch someone in the face! Probably Slytherin Captain Caleb Blackthorn — anyone remember last year when Lark was a Chaser and Caleb _accidentally_ elbowed her in the face so she wouldn't score? Good times. But they're both Keepers now, so I'm sure there'll be none of that."

Rose couldn't help but feel that was a little optimistic: all of the players were eyeing the other team distrustfully as they mounted their brooms — with the exception of Imogen and the Slytherin Seeker, Niamh, who seemed to be making faces at each other. They turned serious when the Snitch was released, Niamh's eyes following it as it flew up and around the pitch. Rose tried to do the same but she couldn't keep track of the tiny golden ball from this distance. The bludgers were released moments later and Oliver Wood tossed the Quaffle into the air.

"And they're off!" Dominique announced. "Slytherin in possession — oops, not any more! DeVerre fumbles the Quaffle and McKinley sneaks it out from under her nose, too bad. Ravenclaw in possession now and they are straight down the field with Slytherin hot on their tails."

Rose felt a swell of house pride when the Ravenclaw team played. The Chasers worked methodically but instinctively so, racing down the field and passing before the Slytherin Beaters could focus on any one of them, never needing to check to see where the others were. Jay was searching for the Snitch but still managed to swerve in front of Darcy and the other Slytherin Chasers, scattering them.

"Some expert blocking there from the Ravenclaw Seeker," Dom's commentary continued, "and you can bet no one would give them a foul if the Slytherin Chasers crashed — the Ravenclaws moonlight as Quidditch lawyers."

Jay made a rude gesture in the direction of the commentator's booth and pulled up above the other players, while down below Annabelle Brown took a shot at the far left goal, only for the Quaffle to be neatly blocked by the Slytherin Keeper. He pegged the scarlet ball to Darcy, gesturing angrily at her.

"Ooh, looks like Caleb Blackthorn isn't pleased at having to do his job," Dominique said gleefully, ignoring the Slytherin booing. "Better get your head in the game, Darcy, or he might have to actually guard his hoops!"

For a bit it seemed that Darcy had got the message, speeding down the pitch and tossing the Quaffle towards the Ravenclaw hoops — but the throw had no power behind it and Lark caught it easily. She passed it back to Cyril Inkling and the Ravenclaw Chasers swept down the pitch once more. The Slytherin Beaters followed them, but their Ravenclaw counterparts were close behind.

Ravenclaw was a defence heavy team. Their Beaters, Imogen and another girl called Fern, were batting away the bludgers like flies — though Imogen, the more vicious of the two, also had a knack for sending them straight at the nearest Slytherin player with uncanny accuracy and no shortage of force. One of her bludgers hit William Ollivander's broom so hard he went spinning off to the side and barely pulled up before he hit the side of the stands.

"OUCH! Slytherin Chaser Will Ollivander nearly takes a nosedive thanks to Imogen Leist! You know, I've always wondered if that girl has a few anger issues she needs to work out."

Dominique seemed keen to get both houses offside, but Rose had to admit that she had a point. However, whatever issues Imogen might have, it was working in Ravenclaw's favour. Even big, burly Ezekiel Nott wasn't game to get too close to the Ravenclaw Beaters, and when Cyril reached the hoops, he took a shot and scored.

Rose had a certain reluctant admiration for the Slytherin team, who were usually all speed and offence and trying to sneak through the occasional foul when the referee wasn't looking. Today, though, they seemed slow off the mark, and it wasn't hard to figure out why: Darcy deVerre, their fastest Chaser, was flagging badly. Without Darcy leading the charge, Ezekiel Nott and William Ollivander were too slow to break through the defence of the Ravenclaw Beaters and they couldn't hold onto the Quaffle for long, because when they tried to pass it to her Darcy fumbled and stared as the ball fell like she could barely recognise what it was. After Ravenclaw scored their third goal, Cosette Rosier sent a Bludger at Cyril Inkling in frustration and the Chaser swerved into the Slytherin goal post to avoid it, hitting his head and crashing to the ground.

The teams agreed to a short break after that and for a while Slytherin seemed to regroup. Ollivander took point and scored two goals before Inkling, recovered, took back the Quaffle to score another ten points past the Slytherin Keeper. Ollivander was aiming for a third goal when the crowd roared — the Slytherin Seeker was pelting towards the end of the pitch. Jay was following her at top speed but he wasn't quite fast enough to catch her.

There was something gold glittering near the Ravenclaw hoops.

For a second it looked like Slytherin was bound to win — Jay was too far behind to catch up and Niamh was closing the distance between her and the Snitch every second. A bludger rushed towards Jay and— _SMACK!_ The bludger, redirected by Imogen's bat, crashed straight into Niamh and she toppled from her broom.

Jay, still speeding towards the goalposts, had no time to slow down and barely managed to pull up in time to avoid a collision, but when he returned to horizontal he was holding something tiny and gold over his head, shouting victory.

The scoreboard's numbers shifted: it now read _Ravenclaw - 190; Slytherin - 20_. Rose got to her feet, cheering along with the other Ravenclaws. Next to her, Scorpius looked up from his Transfiguration textbook. "Did we score?" she heard him ask Lyra over the noise of the crowd. Rose looked exasperatedly at him and turned back to the pitch, seeing Niamh Selwyn getting to her feet and mockingly shake her fist at Imogen Leist, who was dismounting her broom to check on her friend. Darcy was landing too, and Rose watched her all but flee towards the change rooms.

"Lyra," Rose asked over Scorpius's head, "did you think Darcy wasn't playing like she normally does?"

"Uh, maybe," she replied uncertainly. "I don't really remember which one she is — is that the Slytherin Seeker?"

"The girl Chaser. Darcy deVerre. She's brilliant, usually."

"Her?" Lyra asked, surprised. "She looked tired enough to fall off her broom."

"Yeah..." Rose thought back to the conversation she had overheard between Fred and Darcy after the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match and frowned. "DeVerre's a pureblood name, isn't it, Scorpius?"

He looked up from his book to scowl at her. "I don't know everything about purebloods, Rose," he said defensively, going red.

"Well, Lyra's not going to know, is she? Stop being put upon, surely you've got some idea."

Scorpius gave her a look of irritation but replied, "Sit down and I'll tell you."

Several of the Ravenclaws were still cheering as the remaining airborne members of the team did a victory loop, but Rose did as he asked. Lyra sat down as well and they both looked at him expectantly. He sighed.

"According to my grandmother, the deVerres are only sort of purebloods. The name's French, of course, but the family over here are both from the French deVerres, who are a well respected family with loads of recorded ancestry and all that, and the English Harbands, who are, well, not."

"What'd the Harbands do, avoid incest?" Lyra quipped.

"Don't you start," Scorpius scolded. "Apparently there's no record of them beyond a hundred years ago or so, but they claim their family is descended directly from _Merlin himself_."

Rose was starting to get the idea of why the Harbands weren't considered bona fide purebloods.

"Did Merlin even have kids?" Lyra asked sceptically.

"Not that anyone knows of," Scorpius replied. "So over here the deVerres are a... a bit of a laughing stock, to the really obsessive purebloods. They don't have some awful family history full of murderers and Dark wizards either, though, so that's one up on a load of the others. Why'd you want to know?"

"Just a theory," Rose replied. In fact, her initial theory had been some vague notion of Darcy running an evil pureblood cult that was corrupting Fred and had been rather swiftly sent down the drain, only to be replaced by another. Still, Darcy could be tired for dozens of reasons. No need to get ahead of herself.

The crowds of students were leaving now, so the three first years joined them and made their way down the stands. They were leaving the pitch when Rose felt a tap on her shoulder. James was standing behind her. "I need to talk to you, Rosie."

"Sure," she replied, and turned to Scorpius and Lyra. "I'll see you later, okay?"

They agreed and left, and James pulled Rose away from the crowd to a quiet spot at the back of the stands. He seemed to struggle for a moment and Rose wondered if something bad had happened to someone in the family. After a moment he burst out, "I bet you're happy!"

Rose looked at him blankly. "About the match, d'you mean? Well, yes. We won, remember? Beat Slytherin, your least favourite house?"

James seemed to stumble over this. "Well... Well, I bet you're happy that Ravenclaw beat them when we didn't!"

"Not really." Rose had to wonder if he was still smarting over losing his first proper Quidditch match. "Are you going to interrogate Dorian like this?"

"Dorian's still talking to his best friend! Albus told me you've stopped talking to him, he's really upset—"

" _He's_ upset?" Rose interrupted, her temper rising. " _HE'S_ upset?! Did the fact that he said awful things to me just _out of nowhere_ damage his delicate feelings? Well, you can tell him—"

"Tell him yourself," James said sharply. "And even of you don't, are you really going to replace him with Malfoy, of all people?"

"I'm not replacing him, I'm just... talking to different people. Is there really anything wrong with that?"

James stared at her like she'd grown another head. "It's _Malfoy_ , Rosie! You hate him! He's a rude, snivelling little rich boy, and he can't fly and he doesn't like Quidditch! Dom saw him _reading_ during the match like it wasn't worth his time to watch!"

"He was only there because Lyra and I asked him to come. And..." She stopped. Why did Scorpius bother her so little? They didn't have much in common besides school work. "And I know he doesn't like Quidditch. He didn't pretend to like it for ages and then spring it on me that he doesn't and how dare I act like he does? He's not that bad and when he is, at least I know what I'm dealing with!"

James folded his arms over his chest. "That's just the problem, Rosie. I don't think you do."

"Because you're such an expert," she replied snidely. "You know what? If you're going to act like this every time I try to make friends with someone you don't like, I _am_ glad you're not the Quidditch star you obviously thought you were going to be. I bet Hufflepuff kicks your arse!"

With that, she stomped away, fuming, ignoring the retort that James was yelling at her back. How _dare_ he? And how dare Albus go running off to his brother for help instead of just _apologising_? She headed towards the lake, too angry to go back inside just yet.

The lake was dark and choppy under the clouded sky, and Rose could barely make out the giant squid lurking beneath the surface. She stood at the edge of the water and tried skipping stones, but they all sunk straight under the waves. She wondered when Albus had complained to James about her not speaking to him, not that he was speaking to her either. It had only been a week and immediately James was there trying to tell her who to be friends with. Had Dom been in on it? James had said that she was telling him about what Scorpius was up to during the match. She must have been. Hopefully the others had better things to do than police her friendships.

She saw a flash of red and black in the corner of her eye, knocking her out of her reverie. There was a figure in the forest, cloaked but with the hood down to reveal their red hair, or possibly hat — from this distance, it was difficult to tell. They were hurrying towards the castle, carrying something in their arms that Rose couldn't make out. She went to follow them, but they were too far away — they quickly passed the Quidditch pitch and disappeared out of sight.

Her curiosity beating out the desire to stay and brood, Rose made her way to the spot where she thought she had seen the figure emerge from the forest. She hadn't imagined it, at least — there were broken branches and a low, partially squashed hedge that showed someone had run through a few minutes ago. There seemed to be something like a path leading into the forest.

Slowly, she climbed over the hedge and began to walk along the path. Why would someone be going into the forest today? They would miss the Quidditch match! As soon as she had thought it, the answer popped into her head. Of course, they would miss the Quidditch match — and no one would miss _them_. Most of the teachers went to the Quidditch matches, plus the students and the occasional visitors from Hogsmeade. Anyone inside the castle would guess they were at Quidditch. Anyone at Quidditch would guess they were inside. It was perfect.

On instinct, she turned to check if she was being followed, and realised with a shock that the entrance had all but disappeared into the shadows of the trees. She looked ahead again and the path seemed to split into two, then four, then eight paths, all vanishing off into the trees.

"Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

Rose knew that if she went ahead, she'd probably never make it out again. Reluctantly, she turned back and made her way to the hedge where she had entered. It looked just like any other part of the forest, she thought furiously. She'd never find it again once she left. Was this what the Sorting Hat had intended, when it had sent her to Ravenclaw? For her to become a coward? _Or,_ suggested a part of her largely concerned with self-preservation, _maybe it wanted me to live to see second year_.

Frustrated with herself and the steadily vanishing possibility of discovering what the lurker had been up to in the forest, Rose began searching her pockets for something to mark the spot. She eventually found a blue hair ribbon that might have been Isobel's and tied it carefully to the hedge. Hopefully the person she had seen wouldn't return in time to find it before she had the opportunity to tell Hagrid.

She stepped back, trying to force the image of this place into her memory, and then reluctantly walked back to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for your kudos and comments on the last chapter! I've been ill (again, some more) so this update didn't go up on time, sorry — although it's still Thursday somewhere in the world, right? My replying to comments is probably going to be delayed for the next week or so because of uni and general illness, but if you do take the time to comment know in advance that I really appreciate it!
> 
> Thanks to Harley and Rosa for feedback and editing! Special thanks to Harley for naming most of the Slytherin Quidditch team back when the fic was in planning stages. You can blame the Les Mis reference on her.


	15. Chapter 14: Dark Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter takes place in the library. Hopefully it isn't as boring as that makes it sound.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Mild language; discussion of zombies? This chapter is like Earth: mostly harmless.

"Name two examples of creatures described as 'living dead', what that means and where each creature originates from."

Lyra massaged her temples and tried to come up with anything about the living dead that wasn't from cheesy horror films. "Zombies are real, right?" she asked hopefully. Scorpius nodded. "Brilliant. Um, zombies and, uh, vampires? Zombies and vampires are examples of the living dead, which means their bodies are dead but there's still a living person inside? Except, uh, sometimes it isn't the first person to live in that body, and even when it is they're not really all there."

"And they're from where?" Scorpius prompted.

Lyra shrugged. "Vampires are from Eastern Europe, but I've got no idea about zombies. Somewhere in Africa?"

"I think they're American," Rose said, frowning.

"'Zombies are found in the southern part of the United States of America,'" Scorpius read from _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection_. "'Unlike Inferi, they _are_ partly alive, lent a part of a soul by the controlling witch or wizard.' But apparently they're kind of slow so the best idea is to run away from them. The process is too painful for the person controlling them to stop anyone running away with magic."

"What's an Inferi?" Lyra asked.

"Don't know," he replied, putting the book down on the table and flipping through to a page titled _Inferus_. He grimaced. "Playing puppetry with corpses, basically. Like zombies but with no soul or mind of their own."

They were in the library on a Friday afternoon, muddling through the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts topics in preparation for a test Professor Bones was giving the next Monday. Lyra had mixed feelings about studying DADA with Rose and Scorpius. On the plus side, they were all about as good as each other, which was a nice change from feeling like she was the only one who didn't immediately understand the subject. On the other hand, none of them were particularly _good_ at the class, which meant they spent a lot of time reading the very dry textbook and testing each other on its contents. Studying Quentin Trimble’s million ways to run away from scary things was a far cry from their other study sessions, which involved trying to turn cockroaches into rather ugly pendants and making solid rocks as soft as pillows. Lyra had only had two tutoring sessions with Professor Flitwick so far, but she had already learnt to summon fire from her wand without destroying the candle she was trying to light, which she was really rather proud about. Flitwick had advised her that her issue in Charms was less in the realm of wand-movements and pronunciation, and much more to do with controlling the power she put into a spell. This was easier for some than others, he had assured her, and some students who had perfect control at first would struggle later when they tried more powerful spells. As a precaution, however, Lyra still practised most magic out of the library — she didn't want Madam Pince after her head.

Lyra took up the book and flipped to a random page. "Rose, what is the incantation of the Knockback Jinx and what dark creatures is it effective against?"

"The incantation—" Rose stopped mid-sentence and looked around. "Did you hear that?"

"It's probably other people practising," Scorpius replied, but nonetheless got up to check around the nearby bookshelves.

“Do you think everyone else hates Defence too?” Lyra asked Rose. “Professor Bones is nice but I don’t ever want to read that passage about how Acromantulas used to eat travellers ever again.”

“I think we’re all in that boat,” Rose agreed, looking a little green. “Especially the part where the venom paralysed them but they were _still alive_ as they were eaten.” She shuddered.

Scorpius returned a moment later, looking paler than usual. "It's Macgregor and Cyril," he whispered. "Edgar's friends. I think they're looking for _us_."

Lyra closed the book and stood up. "This way," she told them, and started heading in what she hoped was the direction of the secret room. They followed her quietly, obviously puzzled but wanting to get away from the sixth year boys as fast as possible. The boys voices echoed slightly and Lyra picked out the word _Edgar_. She turned a corner and there it was — the shelf with the fake _Hobbit_ book. She pressed the switch and the shelf-door slid open.

"What—" Rose began to say, but Lyra shushed her and pulled them inside. Lyra had just crowded in behind them and shut the door when they heard the boys walk past.

"Are you sure you saw them in here?" came the thin voice of Cyril Inkling.

"I'm sure," Macgregor replied, his voice quiet and deep. "I think they were studying. Why do you care about Edgar getting tossed out, Cyril? He attacked those kids."

"So they say," Cyril shot back. "I'd like to have a word with those two..."

The voices faded, and Lyra heaved a sigh of relief. It took her a moment to realise that Scorpius and Rose hadn't been listening to the voices at all.

"Lyra," Scorpius said, staring at the stained glass window. "What is this place?"

"Oh! I'm not exactly sure, the Grey Lady showed it to me. I slept here sometimes when I couldn't get into the common room. I meant to show you, but it just kind of slipped my mind."

Rose sat down heavily on the bed, looking overwhelmed. "You realise this might be an important discovery for Hogwarts history?" she asked, her voice a little faint.

Lyra shook her head. "I didn't discover it. Someone else had used it recently when I first came here. There were all these books about the founders on the desk, look." She pointed to a pile of tomes that she had neatly stacked beside the bed. "And at least once I've gone looking for it in the daytime and it wouldn't let me in, so some people must be using it."

"About the founders?" Rose asked, already leaning over to pick up the top book, _The Founders of Hogwarts - Legends and Legacy_. "But we don't even cover them in History of Magic. I'm sure of it, I've asked Victoire before. Binns thinks there isn't enough information on them to teach."

"Well, it's a Ravenclaw room, isn't it?" Lyra said, pointing at the window. "I doubt anybody teaches ovomancy in class, but Jay still goes on about it. Besides, lots of odd books turn up in here. There was a big one about the secrets of magic and death a few weeks ago, but it's disappeared now."

Scorpius took another book and flipped through it. "Did you put these bookmarks in, Lyra?" he asked, indicating the bit of torn parchment tucked in between the pages. He'd seen her use that sort of thing in her own books.

"Yeah, but that's where they were open to when I found them. I needed to use the desk but I didn't want to lose the person's page. They're all about Godric Gryffindor, so I thought they were probably writing an essay on him. Or, y'know, trying to figure out why the Sorting Hat was going on about him at the start of the year."

Rose stared at her. "The Sorting Hat..." she said wonderingly, then snapped the book shut. "That's it! The Sorting song!"

"What about it?" Lyra asked. "It was about how the founders of Hogwarts died, wasn't it?"

"Except for the last bit," Scorpius said, catching on. "There was some extra bit about the lion — Gryffindor!"

"'The lion will walk once more'," Rose agreed. "What was the name of the death book, Lyra?"

"I don't know, Remembrance, Resurrection and something, I think. Mostly it had myths about death-related objects and immortality potions in it. It had this bit about 'veils' that was kind of interesting, but the rest of it looked kind of... creepy."

"Creepy as in _necromancy?_ " Rose demanded. Lyra nodded. "Don't you understand? Someone's managed to hide a room in Hogwarts from even the ghosts. Someone modified Lyra's memory when she saw them by accident. _Someone_ was reading about Godric Gryffindor and necromancy in this very room." She stared at them as if waiting for them to catch on. "They're trying to bring back the dead! _Somebody wants to resurrect Godric Gryffindor_."

There was a silence. Eventually, Scorpius said cautiously, "But that's a lot to guess from a song from a hat. It might just mean they're going to win the House Cup."

"But what about the ghosts?" Lyra piped up. "If you tried to do something like bringing back the dead, wouldn't they be the ones to notice? _They're_ dead, after all. And if you managed to mess it up, like you pulled in the wrong direction..."

"It would hurt them," Rose confirmed. "I've never heard of that happening before, but I've never read much about necromancy."

"I haven't either, but it's still a bit far fetched, don't you think?" Scorpius asked, looking dubious. "I mean, the teachers would have thought of it if it had happened before."

"You're right," Rose declared, but before he could relax, she continued, "The teachers will never believe us. It might even _be_ one of them. It's got to be someone older — necromancy's bound to be really advanced magic as well as being dangerous. They'd have to be, uh..."

"Well, not our age," Scorpius said, then sighed. "I don't know if I believe you, but we've got to find someone who knows what to look for when a person's performing Dark magic." He looked expectantly at Rose, who looked back at him blankly. "Your dad's an Auror, isn't he?"

"Dad wouldn't just tell me that without knowing what's wrong," she replied in frustration. "And if Mum finds out, she'll think I've gone mad."

"'Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it'," Lyra mused.

"We can't ask Flitwick," Rose said immediately.

Lyra shook her head. "I wasn't thinking of Flitwick."

* * *

 That evening after dinner, Imogen Leist found herself accosted by three first years in the entrance hall.

"You're a prefect, aren't you, Imogen?" one of them asked, a redhead with freckles who Imogen remembered was called Rose Weasley. She was flanked by a blond boy — Scorpius something-or-other — and Lyra Jones, Edgar's latest victim before he had been expelled. Imogen had never like Edgar — she'd never seen him do anything against the rules or she'd have handed him in to McGonagall in a heartbeat, but he'd reminded her of every unfair teacher or know-it-all student she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. She hadn't exactly been pleased that her feelings had been vindicated at the cost of however many people Edgar had been taking his temper out on, but she was relieved that she'd never have to see him in prefects’ meetings again.

All this considered, she bit back the instinctive sarcastic response ("No, the 'P' on this badge stands for _princess_ " came to mind) and replied, "Yeah. Is there something wrong?"

Rose looked furtive. "Well, we'd rather tell you in _private_."

If it weren't for the presence of Scorpius, Imogen would have guessed that one or both of the girls had discovered their witch's monthly. As it was, she resignedly led them to the nearest classroom and shut the door. "Okay, it's private. What's up?"

"Well," Rose said awkwardly, and then stopped.

Lyra and Scorpius exchanged looks and the former took over. "We think someone we know might be trying to do Dark magic."

She said it with the utmost seriousness, so Imogen did her best not to laugh at the image of a first year trying to summon Dark forces. "Is this person in your year or an older student?"

The three of them exchanged a look. Rose said, "Older," just as Scorpius replied, "We don't know their year."

Imogen raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to tell me who it is, are you?"

"Well, we're trying to respect their privacy," Lyra replied apologetically. She sounded like a shop assistant refusing to let you know if your aging mother had bought a motorscooter five minutes earlier and if so which direction she had rode off in.

Imogen desperately resisted the urge to facepalm. “You three do understand what Dark magic _is_ , right? I mean proper Dark magic: curses, torture, mind-control, _murder_. If you really think they're up to something like that, you don't respect their privacy, you _get the hell away_ , and you send as many Aurors as you can in their direction."

"What Lyra means is that we don't really _know_ if they're doing anything," Rose explained, looking a little flustered. "They're just... acting a little strangely, that's all, but we wanted to know what to look for in case they were getting into something Dark."

Imogen sighed. "All right. But if at any point you think that this person, or anyone else for that matter, is getting into Dark magic, go tell a prefect or a teacher. _Don't_ try to confront them. There's no point putting yourselves in danger."

The three of them dutifully promised her not to go confronting any suspected Dark wizards or witches. Imogen pursed her lips, thinking back to last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. "So, warning signs for experimenting with Dark magic. There are a couple of different ways it can start. They might start acting cruel or associating with people who are into the Dark Arts in some way; they might develop interests in a figure or group associated with the Dark Arts, like Morgan le Fay or the Goblin-Hunters. They—"

"Who are the Goblin-Hunters?" Rose asked, frowning.

"What? Oh, sixteenth century group of Dark wizards operating in London. You can probably figure out what their main crime was. Anyway, where was I? A person intrigued by Dark magic might be restless with the limitations of schoolwork and want to try more powerful spells, which is fairly normal in our house, but the spells they're trying will be curses and hexes. They may lose interest in their normal hobbies or miss classes, but despite that they'll probably be exhausted. Serious Dark magic requires a _lot_ of power for a young witch or wizard _and_ it's addictive. There are lots of things that can make you tired, but..." She shrugged. "Look, if you really think it's because they're out cursing bunnies or something, get Professor Flitwick to talk to them about it. The worst thing that can happen if you're wrong is that Madam Pomfrey gives them something to help them sleep. Why are you looking at each other like that?"

The three first years had been exchanging knowing glances. They turned back to her guiltily. "We were just thinking that it doesn't sound like the person we know has really been doing anything," Rose said with false cheer.

Imogen narrowed her eyes. "I hope you just sound like you're _obviously lying_ when you're relieved. Either way, remember rule one: Don't confront them. No confrontado. Ne les confronte pas. Understand?"

"Absolutely," Lyra replied eagerly before Rose or Scorpius could speak. "Thanks for talking to us. We know you're busy with Owl levels and stuff."

"Don't remind me," Imogen said, thinking mournfully of the mountain of homework she had to finish that weekend on top of Quidditch practice. "But you're welcome. Unfortunately, I now need to face up to a six-foot essay on venomous toadstools, and you three need to go to bed."

"Darn it!" The girls turned to look at Scorpius, who had let out the exclamation. "I left my Defence Against the Dark Arts notes back in the library," he explained.

"We'll go find them," Lyra said. "Thanks again, Imogen."

"It's my prefectly duty to warn you that the first year curfew is at seven," she said, looking amused. "But off the record, we don't actually start patrolling until eight. Be quick."

They all but ran from the room, obviously wanting to discuss whatever it was they had learned from her spiel. Imogen sighed and reluctantly headed up to the common room to research fanged fungi.

* * *

"We should write a list of suspects," Lyra said, trying not to feel excited and failing. The concept of necromancy should have frightened her, but she couldn't help but feel... How had Imogen put it? _Intrigued_. "Any of the older students who are behaving strangely, we'll write their names down and keep an eye on them."

Rose nodded solemnly while Scorpius was checking under the table for the third time. "I have one already," she said. "Darcy deVerre. She's a sixth year Slytherin and at the last Quidditch match she was completely exhausted. _And_ I've heard she knows more curses and hexes than anyone else in Slytherin."

Lyra considered this. "Would there be a reason she'd be trying to resurrect Gryffindor? Why not Slytherin?"

"I don't know, but Scorpius said that her family gets no respect in pureblood circles. Necromancy's pretty bad; maybe she just wants to prove that she's capable of it? What do you think, Scorpius? Would bringing back the dead impress a bunch of fusty old purebloods?"

Scorpius emerged from under the table, scowling. "Will you stop expecting me to know everything about purebloods? It would impress them as much as the next person, I guess. Are you sure this is the table we sat at?"

"I think it might be the next one," Lyra said.

They walked through to the next table, Rose theorising as they went. "If I wanted to impress someone who thought I was weaker than them, I'd try to do something amazing, something they didn't even believe was possible! Maybe... Maybe she's a Magrafarian!"

"A what?" Lyra and Scorpius asked at the same time, Scorpius a little muffled as he was kneeling to peer under the table.

"I read about it in one of the books in the reading room before dinner. It's this nutty theory, started by a wizard called Eresot Magrafare, that says that Hogwarts was built _exclusively_ for wizard-born children and all the founders agreed on it, but later headmasters and headmistresses brought Muggleborns in and rewrote the history to say that only Salazar was the problem. Completely mad, but I bet they'd jump at the chance to bring back one of the founders to confirm their theory."

"Was that one of the pages they were opened to?" Lyra asked.

"Well, no. Actually, it was in a footnote that led me to another book I found myself. But it's still a possibility," Rose said defensively.

Scorpius emerged victoriously from under a chair, holding a sheaf of parchment. "Aha! Found it!"

"Brilliant, I was beginning to worry about the time," Lyra said, checking her watch. "It's nearly half-past seven."

"I hope Imogen was right about the prefects only patrolling after eight," Rose said. They hastily headed for the exit, meeting a glowering Madam Pince on the way out. When they were out of earshot, Rose asked quietly, "So, does anyone else seem like a likely suspect?"

"I think we need some help with this," Scorpius whispered back. "We can't watch every student who looks tired or is rude about goblins. We need to see if anyone else has seen them acting suspicious. You know," he added meaningfully, "In the other houses."

Rose sighed melodramatically. "Fine, I'll ask Elin... and Albus. Don't blame me if he goes running off to James."

"We won't," Lyra said brightly. "Because that would mean he believes us."

* * *

 The Rose-Albus peace conference took place on the day before Valentine's Day in the depths of the library. This was not only neutral ground, it also eliminated the possibility of raised voices, duelling, or punch-ups. Ellie had insisted on coming, despite Rose's warnings that what they had to say might result in well-intentioned rule-breaking, so she, Lyra, and Scorpius were sitting off to the side while the two cousins argued.

"So," Ellie said, "you think you know what happened to the ghosts on Halloween?"

"Well, we're more guessing than anything," Scorpius said frankly.

"But we think it has to do with necromancy," Lyra said confidently. "Rose remembered the Sorting Hat's song from the start of the school year — remember how it said " _the lion will walk once more_ "? We think someone's trying to bring Godric Gryffindor back to life with Dark magic."

"Is that why you want our help?" Albus demanded to Rose, having overheard. "You want us to be your spies in Gryffindor, do you? Well, no one in _our_ house would ever—"

"Oh God, please let it be Genevieve," Ellie said with a touch of desperation, ignoring Rose's retort about someone called Peter Pettigrew. "She's been _awful_ this week, going on and on and on about how Hogwarts doesn't do Valentine's Day right and at Beauxbatons they have _wood nymphs_ that _serenade_ the students in the whole week leading up to Valentine's Day, and all the classes are cancelled so they can have a _day long dance_ that all the students are allowed to attend. She probably wants Gryffindor to order the teachers to let her go to our Valentine's Day ball, even though it specifically says third years and up only."

"The ball's only been around for the last twenty years, so Gryffindor's got nothing to do with that," Scorpius pointed out. "But we think it must be pretty advanced magic, so I doubt anyone in our year is doing it."

"Darn," Ellie said. "It's not fair. Your house got to get rid of its most annoying student."

"What happened to Isobel?" Lyra said, frowning.

Scorpius elbowed her. "She means Edgar."

" _Oh_ , right. But we've still got loads of annoying people. We just thought someone would be more likely to want Gryffindor back if they were, y'know, a Gryffindor."

"Weren't you _friends_ with Isobel, Rose?" Albus asked snidely. "What did _she_ do to offend you?"

"She told me she was _annoyed_ that Edgar got caught, Al!" Rose retorted, then mimicked Isobel's voice, "'Now everyone's going to think of us as snoops and bullies, Rose! What were you thinking?' And Aimée _agreed_ with her!"

Albus looked a little stunned, but the moment Lyra thought Rose might have convinced him, his face hardened. "Well, you didn't have to replace her and Aimée with _Malfoy_ , did you?" he demanded in a tone of disgust.

The way he spat Scorpius's last name reminded Lyra of the way James Potter had said it on that first train ride from King's Cross, but now she knew what he was implying. Before anyone else could reply, she leaned across the table and waved in Albus's face. "Hi Albus, I'm also here and a terrible influence! Want to say rude things about _my_ family?"

He blushed furiously. "Lyra, you're not a—"

"A pureblood? You mean like you? I looked up your dad and guess what? Potter's a pureblood name! And so's Weasley, _and_ Prewett, which is apparently your grandmother's maiden name, which was about the point where I thought the book was getting a little bit stalky so I closed it before it told me his PIN number, but _still._ Stop being hypocritical and come up with some actual good reasons to hate Scorpius, because if you do, you'll realise that you should hate me too!"

"My dad's mum was a..." Albus started, then shook his head. "Okay, fine, I'm being unfair. But why was it that as soon as you started hanging around Scorpius — _and_ Lyra — you started breaking rules, Rose? I mean, you were obviously mad at me for asking the house elves for hot chocolate, but then that afternoon I saw you and Scorpius heading up from there with a bagful of food!"

Rose shook her head and sighed. "For one thing, that was for Lyra after she was attacked, but I never had a problem with getting food from the house elves. That's why we were looking for the kitchens, remember? The problem was that you acted like I was some kind of freak for being worried about the house elves _segregating themselves_ into paid and unpaid workers! How many of those elves are siblings or friends or families and they can't even work together now because—"

" _We know, Rose_ ," Lyra and Scorpius said at the same time. She gave that particular speech at least three times a week.

Albus just looked astonished. "How was I supposed to know that _that_ was what you were thinking about? I thought you had suddenly decided it was bad for Hogwarts to have house elves at all!"

"Well, how was _I_ supposed to know that that was what _you_ were thinking?" Rose asked tearfully. "I thought you were saying that I... Oh, I don't know!" She buried her face in her hands, crying.

There was a long silence. Albus looked distraught. Eventually, Ellie burst out, "Fine, you two need to make it more clear what you think about house elves or what you think the other person thinks about house elves. Can we _please_ get back to the necromancy? I'm really sorry, but if my mum finds out someone's trying to make celebrity zombies at Hogwarts, I'll be dragged home before you can even _say_ house elf rights."

Rose looked up slowly, took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. "Ellie's right. Necromancy is Dark magic and we've got to stop them before they try it again and hurt the ghosts some more, or hurt anyone else."

"But you don't really think they're trying to turn Godric Gryffindor into an Inferi, do you?" Albus asked. "Nobody even knows where he's buried."

Rose shook her head. "No, they're not trying to bring his body back. If that could hurt the ghosts, the teachers would know about it. We think they're trying to bring back his soul."


	16. Chapter 15: Valentine Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: allusions to drug use; anonymous awfulness. Also discussion of the dangers of Love Potions, because Professor Bones is not here for Hallmark card tomfoolery.

Love, or at least a lack of outright dislike, was in the air. It was Wednesday morning, Valentine's Day, and Albus Potter and Elin Haksar had joined Scorpius and Lyra at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast. Rose was still up in Ravenclaw Tower, yet conversation was not about "my dad hated your dad in school so I hate you", it was about a shifty-looking seventh year called Aristo Alexander, and Scorpius was finding that the two Gryffindors were actually pretty nice.

"He's definitely up to something," Ellie was saying eagerly. "He's always sneaking out to the forest and he smells funny afterwards."

"I heard him saying something about collecting magical mushrooms the other day," Albus added. "I wonder if we could find a book on fungi that might give us a hint to what kind he's talking about."

"Um..." Lyra began, looking uncomfortable. "Are you sure he didn't say _magic_ mushrooms?"

Scorpius and Albus looked at her uncomprehendingly, but Ellie smacked her forehead and said, "I didn't even think of that! Of course, that'd explain the sneaking out... And the smell, if he's smoking stuff too."

"What _are_ you on about?" Scorpius asked.

"What difference is there between magic and magical?" Albus added.

The girls exchanged looks. Ellie shrugged and said, "Magic mushrooms have a chemical in them that makes people high. People — apparently not just Muggles — use them to make themselves feel good."

"He could also be finding, you know, _weed_ in the forest, if he's smoking something," Lyra added in a low voice.

Scorpius and Albus both stared at them. "Where do you learn all this?" Albus spluttered.

"In Muggle school, sometimes they get people to come and tell us not to do drugs," Lyra said matter-of-factly.

"And they describe all these different kinds, and how each and every one will kill you," Ellie added. "Drugs would explain a lot about Aristo, now that I think about it..."

"What about Merva, in sixth year?" Lyra asked. "Not to do with drugs, to do with necromancy. She's pretty grumpy, and I think someone said that her mum died recently."

"So she decided to revive Godric Gryffindor?" Albus asked sceptically. "If my mum died, she'd be first on my list, not a famous dead wizard I'd never met."

"She did quit the Quidditch team, though," Ellie pointed out. "I heard about it after the first match. Aren't we looking for people giving up their hobbies?"

"I'll put her on the list," Lyra declared, pulling out the small notebook in which she had titled a page ' **SUSPECTS** ' in thick black marker.

She was scribbling down Merva's name and description when Rose appeared, looking furious. She marched up to the table, hands clenched into fists with one crushing a piece of parchment. "Lyra," she said tightly, "did you see anyone put something on my bedside table this morning?"

"No," Lyra replied. "What is it, a Valentine's card?"

"An anti-Valentine," Rose said as she sat down. "Signed 'Scorpius Malfoy'."

"What?!" Scorpius exclaimed. "Rose, I wouldn't—"

Rose shushed him irritably. "I know that, Scorpius, I'd recognise your handwriting. I'm pretty sure I can guess who really wrote it." She cast a dark glance down the table to where Isobel and Aimée were going over study notes. "Pass the bacon, please, Al."

She didn't say any more on the subject of the anti-Valentine, but Scorpius felt a little sad. She had recognised that it wasn't his handwriting, but didn't she realise that he wouldn't be sending her rude letters either way? He had been under the impression that, bizarre as it seemed, he and Rose were actually becoming friends. _But we've never been friends_ , he thought as he watched her chatting animatedly with Albus and Elin. _Not properly_.

Feeling despondent, he abandoned his bowl of porridge and mumbled something about having forgotten his book in the dormitory before leaving the Great Hall. In reality he’d done nothing of the sort, so instead of heading for Ravenclaw Tower he made his way towards the Transfiguration classroom. They usually had a period off the morning after Astronomy, but Professor Shafiq had to go into London for the day on Thursday so their lesson had been moved to Wednesday for that week. Scorpius wondered vaguely if Professor Shafiq would assign a Valentine's themed lesson, like Professor Flitwick had taught them to make no-melt snow just before the Christmas holidays. He sincerely doubted it.

He was just about to try to door to the classroom when he heard voices inside. He paused outside on the small landing — should he move down the staircase so he couldn't hear them? It would be the polite thing to do, but this staircase had tricked him many a time before. Instead, he moved away from the door, and waited on the end of the landing.

"Mister Weasley," he heard Professor Shafiq saying. "You've been one of my best Transfiguration students since your very first year, but now is not a good time to get complacent. Professor Longbottom mentioned that you were thinking of a career in curse-breaking?"

What sounded like an older boy's voice replied, "Yes, maybe... I don't know. I can't think about jobs at the moment, Professor."

"This is your OWL year, Mister Weasley. If you want to have the opportunity to become a curse-breaker, or any number of other occupations, you'll need to achieve an Exceeds Expectations in my class to proceed to NEWT level. Frankly, you're one of the most natural spell-casters I've seen in years, and I'm sure the other teachers would agree with me. If you don't aim high this year, not only will you lose the opportunity to find the job if your choice, you'll throw away the chance to become the brilliant wizard you are obviously capable of being."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I... I've just been a bit distracted. I'll try harder, I promise." There was a muffled yawn.

When Shafiq spoke again, his tone was a little gentler. "Try going to bed earlier, Mister Weasley. You're evidently overtired. And if you need help with stress or sleeping, do go to see Madam Pomfrey. Taking care of yourself doesn't make you weak."

"I will, Professor. Thank you..."

The door opened and Scorpius jumped, but Fred Weasley barely seemed to register his presence. Blurry-eyed, the fifth-year boy stumbled past Scorpius, down the staircase and out of sight.

 _I've just been a bit distracted_... What if _Fred_ was the necromancer? The Weasleys were all Gryffindors, apart from Rose, and if Professor Shafiq thought so highly of him, Fred must be a very skilled wizard. And he was obviously exhausted, and failing classes despite his talents...

Scorpius shook his head. He could never suggest to Rose and Albus that their cousin was practising the Dark Arts. Even Rose still thought that Scorpius was the one capable of hurting others... If it had been Isobel and not Lyra who was attacked, would Rose have suspected him? Would others?

There was no way he could bring up Fred without sounding like he was trying to prove a point to them, and if their little investigation broke up, that would be five less people looking for the necromancer. Scorpius sighed and entered the classroom.

"You're early, Mister Malfoy," Professor Shafiq observed calmly. He was sitting at his desk with a pile of what was probably homework to mark next to a large jar of moths.

"I finished breakfast quickly," Scorpius explained, taking his usual seat. Maybe being in Slytherin wouldn't have been so bad. Professor Shafiq was nice enough, and at least everyone else would be being accused of Dark magic too. He'd practically be hailed Saint Malfoy if he were standing next to Cosette Rosier and Dominic Dolahov.

But he _liked_ Ravenclaw, with its airy tower and star-covered ceilings. He liked the books and the ever-present smell of parchment and even the more eccentric students with their strange obsessions. He liked spending time with Lyra in the common room, and if he was honest, he'd say he liked Rose too. She brought up his family too much, but he brought up her nosiness in return and everything tended to turn out fine.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the arrival of some other students, including Lyra who took her usual seat next to him. "Did you find your book?" she asked, and he looked blankly at her before he remembered his excuse for leaving.

"Oh, um, I actually realised I hadn't forgotten it at all. It was just in the bottom of my bag. Any more ideas about the _you-know-what_?"

"One of the seventh years wants a job with the Spirit division at the Ministry, but other than that, nothing. Rose looked pretty upset about that anti-Valentine thing, though. Pretty stupid of Isobel to sign it with your name. Rose is sure it was Isobel who wrote it."

"Yeah," he replied. "Her handwriting's really neat, isn't it? Neat and loopy."

"That describes her perfectly," Lyra said, grinning.

When the class had assembled, Professor Shafiq began walking around the class, handing out a moth to each of them. The insects crawled about on the desks but didn't attempt to fly away. "Today, we will be practising animal to metal Transfiguration. Please turn to page 205 of your books and look to the spell named 'Butterfly to Locket'."

This could count as a Valentine's theme, Scorpius supposed as he looked at the example of a colourful metal and glass locket, but the Professor was as solemn as ever, so it was difficult to tell. Shafiq explained that they were using moths instead of butterflies in order to focus on the shape and material of the locket rather than colour and decorations. They recited the incantation ( _Propinquus argentum_ ) until they had all mastered the pronunciation, did a few trials of the wand movement and then Shafiq set them to work trying to turn their moths into metal lockets.

Scorpius had to find his moth first, as it had wandered over to the far side of the desk to converse with Lyra's moth — probably discussing what a very weird day this had been. It was about to get weirder for his moth, as he gently pulled it back onto his side of the desk and pointed his wand at it. " _Propinquus argentum!_ "

It took about four tries, but eventually his moth stopped shuffling about, turned a metallic brown colour and its wings curved inwards slightly. He stared at it, wondering if he ought to reverse the transformation before trying again, when he heard Lyra next to him exclaim, "I did it!"

Professor Shafiq came over and Lyra proudly held up her work: a perfectly oval bronze coloured locket with no indication it had once been a moth but the leglike protrusions near the hinge. Shafiq opened it to inspect the inside and handed it back, looking impressed. "Excellent, Miss Jones. Leave that as it is and try another. See if you can make the hinge as clean as possible." He put another moth on her desk and turned to Scorpius. "Mister Malfoy, what do we do with incomplete transfigurations?"

"Reverse them?"

"Exactly. Do you remember the correct spell?"

Scorpius did, and soon the moth was back to normal, though it crawled about rather frantically at first — being transfigured must have been rather confusing. Scorpius took a moment to practice the wand movement and then tried again.

By the end of the class, about half of them had managed to turn their moths into some semblance of a locket, Scorpius included. He only realised as they returned their work to Professor Shafiq that Rose's moth hadn't done much but take on a slightly shiny cast. That was odd — Rose was usually much better than him at Transfiguration.

"You alright?" he asked as they left the classroom. Rose glanced at him and he was surprised to find that her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had been crying.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, making her way down the stairs. "Today's just not my day."

 

* * *

 

Scorpius had even less expected Defence Against the Dark Arts to be a themed lesson, but it was — all about the varying dangers of different kinds of Love Potion. Professor Bones didn't seem to be quite in the spirit of the day of love, however, because according to her, Love Potions went from pointless pranks to downright dangerous to outright evil.

"There are certain kinds of Love Potion that you might buy premade from a joke store," she said solemnly. "These are largely harmless when applied properly — the victim acts rather warm and fuzzy about the target for a while, but they aren't under that person's control and the potion wears off quickly enough. The reason such things are frowned upon and banned from Hogwarts is the likelihood of accidental misuse. Love Potions become stronger the longer they are kept unconsumed, which is why most premade ones come in two parts. An out of date Love Potion still cannot give the target control over the victim, but it can and will cause the victim to become so delirious they are a danger to themselves. The same can be said for basic love potions you might find in a publicly available potions book. Remember, any harm that comes to a person under the influence of a potion you gave them or a spell you cast on them is _your_ responsibility."

The class all seemed a little concerned by the turn this had taken — Love Potions were meant to be for jokes, not causing hallucinations. Professor Bones raised her eyebrows at their bemused expressions.

"And _those_ are the kinds of Love Potion that are legal," she continued. "Illegal and restricted Love Potions are any kind that can seriously alter or control a person's behaviour. Amortentia is the best known of these — as a known form of mind control, a licence is required to brew it and even then it can only be used by yourself, on yourself. This results in either targetless love or extreme narcissism, depending on the application."

She continued with a list of warning signs that you or someone else was under the effects of an illegal Love Potion, and then sent them off to lunch with a promise that they would be moving onto discussing other forms of mind control in the second half of the double period. Scorpius caught Rose just outside the door.

"Scorpius, I'm fine," she told him unconvincingly, and blew her nose on a hanky she had pulled from her pocket. "I'm probably getting sick, that's all."

"Rose, that 'anti-Valentine' thing is obviously bothering you," he replied. "What did it say that made you think it was Isobel who wrote it?"

Rose sniffed and fished the crushed piece of parchment out of her pocket. "Here, read it if you want. I don't care. I don't care what she says about me..."

Scorpius uncrumpled the letter and began to read. It started out with _troll-brained_ and _probably half goblin_ , but quickly descended to _blood traitor_ , _Squib lover_ , and right at the bottom, _might as well be a fucking mudblood_. He saw his own name written in clean, loopy handwriting just beneath that word and felt sick. "Merlin, that's..."

Rose looked at him tearfully. "Yeah. And it's definitely Isobel's handwriting. I just..." She couldn't finish and hung her head.

He hugged her tightly. "She's horrible," he told Rose fiercely. "She should never, _ever_ have said those things, and she knows it. She's only doing this because you wouldn't sit back and do nothing when you saw something bad happening, and she's too much of a coward to tell you to your face."

"I know," Rose whispered hoarsely. "But I just... No one's ever _hated_ me like this, and I keep wondering if I should have tried to stay friends with her or if she was always thinking stuff like that... And then I think that I should have noticed it earlier..."

"There's no point wishing you could have read her mind, Rose. The past is the past, and besides," he added jokingly, "you'd need a Ministry warrant to use Legilimency on her. You should know that, your dad's an Auror."

Rose smiled faintly at that, then sighed. "I just thought it was easier to tell the bad people from the good ones, I guess."

"If it were, we'd have found our necromancer by now," Scorpius replied. "Come on, we'll miss lunch."

They began to make their way towards the Great Hall, but Rose hesitated before they went out into the crowded Entrance Hall. "Scorpius, I knew you didn't write that before I even thought about handwriting. I know you wouldn't call anyone things like that... Okay, maybe 'troll-brained', but you know what I mean."

Scorpius felt his face go red with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. "Thanks," he replied. "Good to know."

As he followed her into the Entrance Hall, he considered telling her what he had overheard Professor Shafiq talking to Fred about, but decided against it. He was still her cousin, after all.


	17. Chapter 16: The Usual Suspects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, bullying, and giant people-eating spiders.

The previous night had been quiet in the common room, as most of the older students had gone down to the Valentine's Day Ball, while a handful of second years looked on enviously. It was because of the silence that Rose had got so much work done and in the midst of it discovered a section in her book marked _How To Brew a Forgetfulness Potion_.

Was it possible, she wondered, that the teachers had leapt to the assumption that Lyra's attacker had used a spell when they might have tried a potion? It seemed unlikely, but nonetheless Rose finished her lunch early and hurried up to catch Professor Kirtle before class. Rose said the password and the bookshelf rotated, leaving her in the classroom before she realised that it was occupied by more than one person.

The Headmistress was standing next to a crying Professor Kirtle with a hand on her shoulder. Next to them, the door to the storage cupboard had been blasted off its hinges. "It's all right, Leslie," McGonagall was saying, her voice gentler than usual. "We'll send an urgent order to the Apothecary and replace whatever has been stolen. You're sure you don't know who might have done this?"

Kirtle shook her head, wiping her eyes. "I-I came in just now and it was like this. Nobody's been near it all morning, I've asked Belladonna." Belladonna was the portrait that lived next to the entrance; she was a mean-looking witch who carried a violin in one hand and a wand in the other. "But she— she went down to the ball last night, you know there was a group of them in Alabaster Snike's big painting in the Entrance Hall?" Professor Kirtle's eyes started to well again. "It was such a lovely night, I never thought— It's spelled against Unlocking Charms, it always has been. They must have tried those and then just..." She waved a hand to indicated the mess of the storage cupboard.

"I'll ask after the usual suspects, and the Potions Club," McGonagall said firmly. "Don't worry too much, Leslie, these things do happen sometimes. The culprit will be found and soundly punished."

"But what if it's too late?" Kirtle asked hoarsely. "Some of the things that were stolen, they can be dangerous, and the kind of potions they make don't take long to brew."

"Well, then—" Professor McGonagall began, but stopped when she noticed Rose, who had been staring at the mangled cupboard door in shock. "Miss Weasley, I believe you are early to class. Or was there something you wanted to speak to Professor Kirtle about?"

"I..." Rose was still staring at the door on the ground. "I wanted to ask something about the Forgetfulness Potion, but I can come back..."

"You were wondering if it might have been used on Miss Jones?" McGonagall observed. "I appreciate your concern, but Professor Flitwick and I questioned her and are quite convinced that it must have been a Memory Charm, and a strong one at that."

"Oh." She shouldn't have been disappointed to hear that the teachers knew how to do their jobs, but she kind of was. She tried to ignore the feeling and turned to her teacher. "Are you okay, Professor Kirtle?"

Kirtle took a few deep breaths and when she looked up, the only sign that she had been crying was the slight redness of her eyes. "I'm fine, thank you. I've just discovered that someone broke into my stores while I was at the ball last night. I'll need to tidy this up if we're going to begin on the Awakening Potion today."

Rose peered into the storage cupboard — it was in disarray and several bottles had smashed on the floor near the front. The shelves were brimming with bottles and jars, but there was a conspicuous gap on the top back shelf. "I can help, if you like?" she offered, seeing how tired Professor Kirtle looked.

The Potions mistress gave her a grateful smile. "Yes, that would be good. If you're willing, I'll hand you out the ingredients for today's class and you can portion them out while I'm cleaning up this mess and making sure I know exactly what has been taken."

Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Good. Professor Kirtle, give me a list of the stolen ingredients and I will send an owl to the Apothecary tonight." She smiled at Kirtle and then left.

Summoning the broken glass to a bowl on her desk, Kirtle edged into the walk-in cupboard and selected the ingredients for the Awakening Potion. Soon, Rose was sorting Billywig stings and bunches of aconite into neat piles on each desk while Professor Kirtle repaired fractured bottles of ingredients and took stock of what remained in the cupboard.

"Professor Kirtle?" she asked suddenly. "Wouldn't somebody have heard the door being blasted off?"

"No, they were all at the ball or in bed," Kirtle replied from inside the cupboard. "The prefects patrolled after that and they're the only ones besides the teachers who are allowed out that late. Oh, damn it, they've taken my flickermint. I'll need to ask the Apothecary to import some — it only grows near the Mediterranean," she explained. "It's actually a kind of sea plant, but it looks a bit like mint when it's not blooming so we call it flickermint here. I'll need it for my seventh year class in a couple of weeks."

Something Kirtle had said had set off a spark in Rose's mind, but as soon as she reached for the thought, it was gone. "What's flickermint for?" she asked instead.

"Don't worry, NEWT level potions only. I use it in small quantities for the Elevating Elixir, because it helps the mind focus, but where it's more common I've heard it's used for strong Love Potions, not necessarily legally." Kirtle sounded concerned. "I hope they don't... There's a reason those sorts of things are banned."

She made a worried noise and went back to her ingredients. Five minutes later, the rest of the class arrived and Professor Kirtle emerged, hastily charming the door back onto its hinges and beginning the lesson before anyone could ask what had happened.

"So, the Awakening Potion," she said as Rose took a seat at Scorpius and Lyra's table. "It's usually used to wake people from an enchanted sleep or concussion. It is also called the Wideye Potion, because it can be used to keep the drinker awake. It is _not_ magical coffee. Please, _please_ do not use it as such. Even when you're all in fifth year and you need to study for your OWLs late into the night, don't ever take more than a drop of it at once. A good swig could keep you awake for _weeks on end_ , until you collapse from exhaustion at the end of it."

Warnings dealt with, she moved the few lone students to form one last group of three, wrote the instructions on the board and told them to begin.

Lyra pulled out the selection of magical herbs, leaves, and beetle eyes from her potions kit and began measuring out the base ingredient. Rose and Scorpius started counting out the other ingredients. In a low voice, Scorpius asked, "What happened to the cupboard?"

"Someone broke in and stole some ingredients during the ball last night," Rose whispered back. He looked startled. She continued, "But that's not all. Something Professor Kirtle said made me think: _Prefects_."

"What about them?"

"Scorpius, when Lyra was attacked, it happened at night, long after curfew, by someone who nobody noticed wandering around and who knew what year she was in and even what _bed_ she slept in — the hangings would stop them from seeing which beds had people in them. Who could know that who isn't in our dormitory? _A Ravenclaw prefect_."

"But Edgar—"

"Not Edgar, someone else. Probably one of the girls, otherwise they wouldn't be able to get into our dormitory. No one would bother a prefect wandering around at night. Even if they had another student with them, they could always make some excuse about taking them to the hospital wing or something. And if they're going out at night all the time, it's a perfect excuse!" Rose dumped the Billywig stings into the cauldron with an air of satisfaction.

"Do you think they stole the potion ingredients?" Scorpius asked, frowning. "I wonder what that could be used for in necromancy?"

"But Rose," Lyra objected. She was crushing up snake fangs in the mortar and pestle as she talked. "You said they broke in _during the ball_. The prefects were all there, it's compulsory for them. I heard Imogen and Jay complaining about it."

She had a point. Rose pressed her lips together as she thought.

"I suppose the break-in might have nothing to do with it," Scorpius offered cautiously.

"Or they might have someone helping them," Lyra added.

Rose looked at her, startled. "That's it! An accomplice..." Suddenly, she remembered something that had been bothering her all week. "One who goes wandering the forest during Quidditch."

* * *

"I forgot to ask Hagrid to check it," Rose explained as they walked out towards the forest, pulling their cloaks around them. Winter was nearly over, but it was still bitterly cold outside. In spite of the weather, there were several people wandering around outside, so the three of them didn't stick out. "I tied a blue ribbon to a hedge to mark the spot. I just hope it hasn't blown away."

She had explained the figure she had seen the day of the Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match, and Lyra and Scorpius had agreed that they might be a lead to the necromancer. None of them were entirely keen to go wandering into the forest without a guide, though, so their trip was somewhat delayed by a visit to the library.

They walked along the edge of the forest, looking for squashed hedges bearing hair accessories, but to no avail. They were just about to give up when Rose spotted a likely looking hedge. "Wait! I think this is it..." She knelt by the hedge; there wasn't a ribbon there, but there were a few strands of glossy blue thread clinging to a branch. "The ribbon's gone, but it was definitely here before."

"If we're going in, let's do it before someone sees us," Scorpius said anxiously, although there was no one around to notice them. "Do you remember the charm?"

"Of course," Rose replied, a tad peevishly, and tapped the hedge with her wand. " _Ariadnis Ligamens_."

A thread of glowing golden light attached itself to the branch; the other end trailed from Rose's wand. The three of them hurried into the trees.

Like before, the path became tangled as soon as they were almost out of sight of the entrance, but now there was a glowing golden line leading back the way they'd come. They stopped at the fork and stared for a moment, but then Rose decided one looked more used than the other and lead them onwards.

The forest got darker as they went further in, the canopy becoming denser, the trees taller, and the sounds infinitely creepier. More than once, they heard a noise like ragged breathing that didn't belong to any of them; every so often, a soft growl was heard from the undergrowth. Lyra started mumbling DADA notes on what to do if faced with an unknown attacker under her breath: "Knockback, smokescreen, get help, knockback, smokescreen, get help..." Rose held her wand a little tighter, still trailing the thread that would lead them out if the forest. Scorpius's lit wand shone brighter; in the eerie light his face looked like a skull.

Finally, they came to a clearing of sorts, where the trees all bowed in from the sides to create a kind of natural tent. "Do you think this is it?" Scorpius whispered.

"If they're looking for ingredients for potions, I think I saw that in your dad's greenhouse," Lyra said, pointing at a cruel-looking vine that had wrapped its way around one of the trees — its thorns were digging into the wood like cat claws in a blanket.

Rose went to look at it, then noticed something on the branches high above it. "What's that?"

Scorpius and Lyra joined her to look at the thick white rope that seemed to be stuck to the upper branches of the tree. It led down to another tree where it split into two ropes, then three, until there was a complex net woven across the trees

Next to her, Scorpius gasped. "That's a web," he breathed, sounding somewhere between awe and terror.

Rose stared at him. "An Acromantula!"

And indeed, they could see a large rabbit stuck in the web near the base, struggling wildly.

"Can we leave now?" Lyra asked, pale and terrified.

Rose was inclined to agree, but Scorpius said, "Wait." He carefully made his way over to where the rabbit was stuck, checking the canopy above for any giant spiders about to drop down. " _Relashio!"_ Rose heard him whisper. The webbing sprung away from the rabbit, which raced off in the opposite direction. Immediately, they heard a strange, irregular clicking sound, and the web started to shake.

Lyra raced forward and grabbed Scorpius's hand, pulling him away from the web. The three of them took off at a run, following the golden thread as the branches above them shook.

"That was really, really stupid!" Rose yelled at Scorpius, but he either couldn't hear her or didn't have the breath to reply. Lyra stumbled, but before she could fall Rose caught her hand and pulled her onwards. The Acromantula was closing in behind them, the trees shaking underneath its weight. The clicking sound was loud and harsh, and Rose was starting to make out words: " _Fresh meat, so fresh, still squealing... Come here, meat! My children are hungry!"_

Astonishingly, the plight of the Acromantula's children did not tug at Rose's heartstrings. Not even when it described how its babies would be so happy to munch on her corpse did she falter, leaping over tree roots and trying to keep the golden thread alight. It was flickering and Rose cursed herself for picking such an advanced spell. Surely there was something else, something that could have pulled them back to the edge of the forest—

Rose fell. She slammed into the ground hard, feeling her arm twist and then crunch beneath her weight. Her forehead thunked on a tree root and her vision blurred. Faintly, she could hear Lyra screaming and could feel arms trying to pull her to her feet, but there was nothing she could do.

" _REDUCTO!_ "

" _INCENDIO!_ "

There was a _BANG!_ And then the Acromantula was screaming and the smell of burning filled the air. The person tugging on her arm finally managed to pull her to her feet, and through watering eyes Rose saw the huge spider for the first time, on its back in front of her with a hole blasted out of its belly. Inside the wound, a fire was burning its insides as the creature writhed in pain.

"Fred," came a quiet voice to her left, "can you kill it? I'll stop the flames from spreading."

A figure stepped forward cautiously and raised their wand. There was a cracking sound and the creature lay still.

" _Aguamenti_ ," whispered the voice next to her, and a jet of water doused the flames in the Acromantula's open belly.

Rose felt her knees buckle, and everything went mercifully dark.

* * *

The next time Rose opened her eyes, she was in the hospital wing. There was someone sitting next to her.

"Rosie?" Fred asked, peering down at her. "Are you awake?"

She studied him for a moment. He was worn, his face tight with big purple shadows under his eyes that stood out even against his dark skin. Fred had been in the forest, she realised hazily. He was the one who had killed the Acromantula.

"Rosie?" he asked again.

"Hi," she said, her voice coming out hoarse. "What happened?"

Fred glanced around the room before replying, "An Acromantula made it to the edge of the forest. You and your friends accidentally ran into the forest when it chased you and Cassian and I followed. We only just stopped it in time and mainly because of luck."

Rose stared at him, confused. "But we didn't... We weren't..."

"I know," Fred replied in a low voice. "But that's what I told the teachers when we brought you three in. Honestly, Rosie, why in Merlin's name did you even think of going into the forest?"

"Following a lead," she said, too exhausted to lie. "Are Lyra and Scorpius alright?"

"They're fine, just a little shaken. Madam Pomfrey had to heal a broken arm and a concussion for you, though. What do you mean, following a lead?"

"Never mind," she replied. "Why were you in the forest?"

"Cassian and I saw you three go in, of course, and we followed you to bring you back but then _we_ got lost. We only found you again when that bloody Acromantula was nearly on top of you."

"Oh..." Rose tried to ignore the twinge of guilt that she had led her cousin into danger — or was it fear of what might have happened if he hadn't been there? Or both?  "Who's Cassian?" she asked to distract herself from that thought.

"He's a friend of mine from Hufflepuff. We were hanging out by the Quidditch pitch when we saw you three disappearing into the forest. It's lucky he's good at duelling or we wouldn't have stood a chance against that thing."

 _Definitely both_ , Rose thought gloomily. She was remembering with a touch of nausea the passage about Acromantula victims that they had read in Defence Against the Dark Arts, not to mention feeling horrendously guilty that she had worried her cousin so much and that she had nearly dragged him, his friend, Scorpius _and_ Lyra into becoming food for giant spiders babies. She closed her eyes and groaned at her own stupidity.

The sound attracted others in the room. "Miss Weasley?" Madam Pomfrey's voice prompted.

She dragged her eyelids open again and saw Madam Pomfrey and Mister Samuels standing over her. "What happened?" she asked again, trying to seem like she had just woken up.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Mister Samuels said, a little exasperated. "Because this rubbish about—"

"Shut up, Martin," interrupted the elderly matron calmly. "How are you feeling, Miss Weasley? What can you remember?"

Rose took a few deep breaths, trying to work out what to say. "I was with Lyra and Scorpius," she began truthfully, before diverting into a lie, "and we were walking along near the edge of the forest, and Scorpius was saying something about winged horses — his aunt keeps Aethonans, I think — and then the trees started shaking and something... Something came out of the forest and it was _huge_ and I think... I think it was a giant spider. A-An Acromantula. I don't remember anything after that. Did I faint? My head hurts a lot."

Madam Pomfrey gave Martin a reproving look that told Rose she believed her version of events. She immediately felt guilty for lying to Madam Pomfrey, but she couldn't tell her what really happened now that Fred and his friend were involved. Besides, what was the punishment for going into the Forbidden Forest? Suspension? Expulsion? She didn't want to think about it, though a tiny part of her whispered, _Coward_.

The rest of her stay in the hospital wing was a blur. Madam Pomfrey had her take at least half a dozen potions and checked her arm over completely to make sure the mending spell had worked — it had been a complex break, she explained. Fred stayed until the matron shooed him out for dinner, and Rose, now awake and reasonably recovered, asked if she could go with him. Reluctantly, Pomfrey agreed, although Rose was ordered to return the next morning to be checked over again and take a Calming Draught if she needed it.

Their walk down to the Great Hall was awkward and largely silent. Fred still looked tired and worried, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. Rose reached out and squeezed his hand. "Sorry," she said quietly. "And thank you, for..."

 _For saving my life_ , she had meant to say, but it wouldn't come out. The lingering thought of how close she had come to death prevented her from going further.

"I wasn't exactly going to throw you under the Knight Bus when you'd nearly been eaten, Rosie," Fred replied. "Just don't try anything like that again, okay?"

They had reached the Great Hall and Fred made his way through the doors to the Gryffindor table in silence, leaving her standing in the Entrance Hall, stunned. Why would he assume she was thanking him for lying to the teachers? But then she realised that however quiet and withdrawn her cousin was these days, he was still Fred, and he thought of her as a little sister as much as she thought of him as an older brother. Putting his life in danger to save hers wasn't even a question of choice to him.

She had, perhaps for the first time, a sense of what being a Gryffindor really meant.

Rose squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. There was no point throwing herself into danger just to feel brave. If she couldn't be a Gryffindor like her family, then she would be the right kind of Ravenclaw. She would study and research and carefully, being sure not to drag anyone into danger, uncover who was performing Dark magic in the school. She wouldn't confront them and she wouldn't try to be the glorious hero: she would go straight to the teachers and have them safely stop the perpetrator. Nobody needed to know it was her.

With this thought, she went and sat at the Ravenclaw table next to Lyra. She and Scorpius both hugged Rose in greeting, but after that they all ate in silence. Rose thought Isobel might have sent her a dirty look, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The other girl's opinion seemed rather unimportant now.

After dinner, the three of them slowly made their way up to Ravenclaw Tower. Scorpius kept glancing at her like he wanted to say something, which she ignored at first, but eventually she gave in and asked, "What is it, Scorpius?"

"Do you think we're going too far?" he asked anxiously. "I mean, trying to track down a necromancer. If Fred and Cassian hadn't shown up today, we'd be dead."

Rose did not need reminding. "You're right," she said, to his evident surprise. "We can still look into it, you know, academically, but if we see anything suspicious we'll tell Flitwick about it right away. Agreed?"

Lyra made a sound of assent and Scorpius nodded, looking relieved. His obvious worry that she would insist on continuing the investigation made her feel worse, and she avoided looking at him the rest of the way to the tower.

When they finally made it to the Common Room, Rose was exhausted and, after wishing Scorpius goodnight, she and Lyra went straight down to their dormitory. On their way down, Lyra stopped for a moment. Rose looked curiously at her. "Lyra? What's wrong?"

Lyra chewed her lip, looking anxious. After a moment, she said, "Rose, when you collapsed in the forest after Fred and Cassian killed the spider, we thought you were dead. Really, properly dead. I had to find your pulse and even then we weren't sure whether you'd been bitten and if the venom was going to kill you and..." She hugged Rose suddenly. "I'm just really happy you're okay," she admitted, looking like she was about to cry.

Rose hugged her back, trying to stop her own tears. "I'm glad you're not dead, too," she half-joked. Lyra gave a rather wet laugh.

They climbed down the rest of the stairs and opened the door marked _First Years_.

Rose's things were in disarray. Her bed had been unmade and the blanket soaked through and hung over the curtain rail,  her trunk open and emptied all over the floor, her books lying torn and battered on the bare bed. Charlie's basket was upturned and growling noises were coming from behind one of the bedside tables.

"Holy..." Lyra breathed, though whether 'moly' or something coarser would have followed, Rose didn't know. "Who did _this?_ The necromancer, d'you think?"

Rose shook her head numbly. She remembered the look Isobel had given her at dinner, and the girl's ideas about people who broke the rules and lied about it.

Exhausted, Rose sat down on her stripped bed and cried.

 


	18. Chapter 17: Under Cover of Quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Manipulative assholery; violence; nepotism.

There was much to be done after the incident with the Acromantula. First and foremost, Lyra woke Rose up in the middle of the night to ask whether she remembered the creature saying anything about _children_ , and the two girls had to drag Ji-Hye out of bed so they could go see the headmistress and explain that the danger of Acromantulas in the forest was far from over. Professor McGonagall sent an urgent owl to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures requesting the location and removal of the giant spiders, and had forbidden Rose and Lyra from telling anyone about the likelihood of a nest in the forest. "Acromantula venom is very valuable and I do _not_ want any overexcited students trying to find them before the Ministry does," she had said, adding, "I think Rubeus ought to hear of the surviving ones from me first. He was always very attached to Aragog."

It was probably for the best that McGonagall had told Hagrid that an Acromantula had survived the two-decades-ago battle where most of the colony had died. The contingent of wizards and witches from the Department had eventually found the nest being watched over by another full-grown Acromantula — the mother. Hours after the message came that they had found the nest, they sent word that the creatures had been nonlethally subdued — unharmed but for the mother now having only seven legs — and put into an enchanted sleep, ready to be transported to a remote sanctuary far from wizards and Muggles alike. As the nest was flown away, hanging beneath a troop of nearly two dozen Department officials on brooms, Hagrid had waved goodbye, sobbing heavily on Professor McGonagall's shoulder.

Lyra quite liked the Care of Magical Creatures professor, but there were certain things about him she would never understand.

Due to her lack of injuries, Lyra had narrowly avoided having a letter sent home about how close they had come to being spider food, but Rose and Scorpius were not so lucky. Scorpius's mother Astoria had been part of the group tasked with removing the Acromantula nest (there was some talk that she had been the cause of the mother Acromantula's missing leg), and Draco had come with her to see for himself that his son was unharmed. Rose's multiple injuries had called for an immediate notification to her parents, so her mother and father had arrived on the same day Scorpius's father had come to see him.

Mrs Weasley-Granger was a very upright, respectable woman with bushy brown hair and an air of command, while her husband was a red-haired, lanky and slightly potbellied wizard who immediately pulled his daughter into a hug, which she returned happily.

"Hi Dad," Rose said when he finally let her go. "Did you miss me?"

"You nearly got eaten by a giant spider!" her father replied, looking distressed. "I thought Ravenclaws were meant to stay _out_ of trouble. They never broke any rules when I was at school."

Lyra, who had been sitting with Rose in the library while she waited for her parents, could not help but laugh at the idea that Ravenclaws had an inherent respect for the rules. Isobel, maybe, and her ilk, but the fifth-years alone had probably trespassed Wizarding law about five times in the last week. She tried to hide her smile when Rose's father glanced at her — it would be a bad idea to explain exactly what went on in Ravenclaw to the magical equivalent of a police officer.

"Is this your friend, Rose?" Mrs Weasley-Granger asked her daughter after hugging her.

Rose nodded. "This is Lyra. She's in Ravenclaw too."

Lyra shook hands with both of the adults, feeling rather awkward, an emotion that only increased when Rose's mother asked, "So, were you also there when the Acromantula...?

"...Yes," she said hesitantly, shrinking under the woman's cool gaze. "It was, um... Scary. Really scary. And furry and it had big teeth-things and I didn't really get a good look at it because we were busy running and screaming. Ma'am."

The woman seemed to realise that she was staring and her face softened a little. "Don't worry, I know it wasn't your fault. But I don't think you girls should take the Beast Division removing this Acromantula nest as an invitation to wander around the forest. There are still plenty of other reason that it's out of bounds." The look she gave them assured Lyra that she didn't buy the 'Acromantula chased them into the forest' story for one moment.

Rose, though she had just yesterday agreed that investigating shouldn't lead them into danger again, looked mutinous. "Because you paid so much attention to that when you were young."

"Not when we were first years," her father said pointedly.

"Excuse me, what about the time with the unicorn?" Rose objected.

"That was in detention, with Hagrid," her mother replied. "And Ron wasn't there, just Harry and I along with Neville and Draco Malfoy, so don't think we decided to go out on some kind of adventure with Hagrid in tow."

"Speaking of that, what's this about Scorpius Malfoy being there when the spider attacked you? I thought you knew he was bad news."

" _Dad_ ," Rose said, exasperated.

Lyra wanted to correct him too, but she was beaten to the punch by Draco Malfoy walking out from behind a bookcase, Scorpius in tow. "What's that you're saying about my son, Weasley?" he demanded.

Mr Weasley-Granger scowled. "Your son _is_ bad news, Malfoy. Rosie was never in any danger until she started hanging around him."

"I could say the same for your daughter!" Draco retorted hotly. "Why would my son go wandering near the Forbidden Forest? Stupidly endangering yourself and others runs in _your_ family!"

"Dad!" Scorpius said loudly.

Ron Weasley-Granger was about to reply when a boy stuck his head around the corner. "Someone said you wanted to see us, Aunt Hermione?" asked Fred Lee Weasley, looking a little nervous. Behind him was Cassian Firgreen, the fifth year Hufflepuff who had gone with him into the forest. Cassian was a slender young man with short strawberry-blond hair and a permanently vague aspect. Both of them looked uncertainly at the three adults.

Hermione alleviated their nerves by hugging her nephew tightly. "Thank goodness you were there," she said, and Lyra noticed for the first time how drawn the woman's face looked. "Rosie would be dead if you hadn't stopped that Acromantula."

"It's fine, Aunt Hermione," Fred assured her, awkwardly patting her back. He looked relieved — probably that his lie hadn't been called out, Lyra supposed. "It's nothing."

"Having a living daughter isn't nothing," his aunt replied bluntly, hugging him tighter before letting him go and grasping a startled Cassian by the hand. "And thank you so much for helping, Cassian."

"Y-you're welcome, Mrs Granger," the boy replied in an almost-squeak. "Or Mrs Weasley, or Ms Granger, or..."

"Mrs Weasley-Granger, but any of the others will do as well," the woman replied calmly, as her husband thanked and hugged his nephew. "Sometimes I go by just Granger, or Weasley, depending on what I'm doing."

"Don't call her Mrs Weasley unless you want about five other women turning up," Ron said cheerfully as he in turn shook Cassian's hand. "That's half the reason I'm Weasley-Granger now — so people don't get me mixed up with my brothers."

"I did wonder," Draco commented from behind them. "Double-barrel surnames are so crude."

Ron turned to face him and a fight might have broken out if Draco hadn't then stepped forward and offered Fred his pale hand. As a rather confused Fred shook it, Draco said earnestly, "Thank you for saving my son."

He did the same for Cassian and then Astoria arrived to tell them that the nest had been dealt with. She thanked the two fifth years as well and settled down into a conversation with Hermione about how the latter's old department was going without her. Lyra felt that conversation had taken a turn for the dry, and went to leave, but noticed that Rose and Scorpius were staying. They were evidently doing their best to ignore the glares between their fathers, as this would be the last time until Easter holidays that they would see their parents. A subtle hollow feeling grew in Lyra's stomach, and she quietly excused herself before hurriedly leaving the library. She passed Madam Pince on the way out — the woman was heading in the direction Lyra had just left and looked like she was on the warpath.

Lyra didn't exactly know what to do with herself, having escaped this week's episode of Wizarding Family Feud, because it was Friday afternoon and usually she would be studying with Scorpius and Rose. With nothing better to do, she headed back to Ravenclaw Tower to see if she could work out the Mending Charm by herself.

She realised her mistake when, upon beginning the climb up to the common room, someone grabbed her arm.

" _Isobel!_ " she yelped, recognising her assailant.

The other girl made a violent shushing motion and half-dragged her up the stairs, checking for eavesdroppers before turning to her and saying, "I only stopped you here because Rupert's waiting to hex you and the other two at the entrance to the common room. I need to talk to you."

"Why?" Lyra asked, pulling her arm free. "And why are you warning me about Rupert?"

"I don't approve of childish pranks," Isobel replied loftily.

"No, you just destroy someone's bed when they nearly get eaten by a giant spider."

"That was her own fault," said Isobel. "Everyone knows you three went into the Forbidden Forest, no matter what those fifth years said. But it's not _your_ fault they keep leading you into danger. Of course you want to impress them. It's difficult to get by in this house when you aren't as clever as everyone else, but you shouldn't let them take advantage of that. You know," and here she leaned in conspiratorially, "I think Rose only wants to be friends with people she can outshine. You know how she used to have all those Potions books checked out of the library? Well, I think she just traded them in for Scorpius's notes. She probably thinks he has some kind of secret textbook." She gave a fake-sounding laugh. "And you... Well, Scorpius might think of you as a pet project, but Rose just wants to be around someone who isn't much competition. Don't let her get in the way of telling the truth about what happened in the forest — and you know she was probably lying about finding that book in Edgar's room. I wouldn't believe anything she says about him."

"About _Edgar?_ " Lyra asked, and then remembered something she had discussed with Scorpius and Rose several weeks ago. "Wait a moment…” Isobel had always said her family had been in Ravenclaw for generations. “Edgar must've been obsessed with Ravenclaw for a reason... He's related to _you_ , isn't he?"

"He was not _obsessed_ ," Isobel said coldly. "He just cared about our house reputation, unlike Rose Weasley. And yes, he's my cousin, what of it? I know him much better than you and I say he would never curse anyone."

"I'd believe Rose over you any day," Lyra said fiercely. "And Scorpius is my _friend_. I guess you don't really know what that is, do you?"

" _Friends_ don't lead you into the lair of an Acromantula for a laugh," Isobel replied, eyes narrowing. "Rose and Scorpius might pretend they care about you, but all they want is an excuse to break the rules. When they get bored, they'll drop you before you can say Arithmancy." With that, the girl turned and hurried back up the stairs towards the common room.

"I hope Rupert curses you by accident," Lyra muttered bitterly, and reluctantly turned back to go warn Scorpius and Rose of the waiting ambush.

* * *

That Saturday was the day of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Both teams had lost their first matches and were eager to catch up with Slytherin and Ravenclaw by winning this one. Lyra was sitting among the Gryffindor crowd with Rose and Scorpius, next to Albus and Elin. Rose was eagerly discussing tactics with Albus, while Scorpius and Elin were ignoring the match entirely and arguing about something which Lyra thought might be to do with dragons or maybe lizards but she wasn't sure. While she usually enjoyed watching Quidditch, she couldn't seem to get into it this time. She had taken a book she had borrowed from her classmate Sam Mirkwood, hoping to return it to him, but she had forgotten that he was in Hufflepuff so they were sitting on opposite sides of the pitch.

Lyra couldn't bring herself to cheer for either side, although Hufflepuff was Ravenclaw's rival house. The main reason was that while Albus seemed to guess that Rose was the main instigator of their journey into the forest, his older brother James and cousin Dominique seemed convinced that it was Scorpius who had led both girls into danger and had been saying as much at breakfast that morning. Lyra wasn't sure what offended her more: that anyone thought Scorpius was some kind of manipulative Mephistopheles, or that they assumed she and Rose weren't perfectly capable of endangering themselves.

By midway through the game, Gryffindor had the Quaffle and were leading 110 to 30, so Lyra thought Rose wouldn't see it as too much of a betrayal if she went to look for Sam in the Hufflepuff crowd. She said as much to Scorpius, who looked at her like he had forgotten she was there and nodded blankly. Feeling a little dejected, Lyra made her way out of their row and down the stands.

She was having a bad day, she thought, but although she knew the feeling would go away sooner or later, she couldn't help that she was unhappy now. Perhaps it was the effect of the book Sam had leant her — a fellow Gilderoy Lockhart fan, he had managed to find the only book the man had written after the incident where he had lost all of his memories,  _Inventing Gilderoy Lockhart_. It was a rather disquieting read, particularly after his other books: writing from a ward in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, he attempted to piece together the truth of his life both from his books and the people who knew him closely, the latter being sadly few and far between. He still had a flair for the dramatic and occasionally his prose bordered on the absurd, but the new Gilderoy had an unsettling kindness that had not been present in his earlier writing. _They were a nice couple, though they didn't talk much_ , he wrote of two other patients in the closed ward where he had spent several years after his accident. _Their son visited them all the time, and they always tried to give him something, even if it was a piece of paper. I think they wanted to give him everything. Maybe they already had. At the time, I didn't think to ask._

Lyra found the book rather unnerving in its rambling style and nonsense adventures interjected with moments of clarity that were somehow painful — the delusion of the great genius Gilderoy Lockhart was a good deal more comfortable than the harsh truth that the real man was both a stranger to the world and effectively dead. She felt somehow intrusive, looking into the thoughts of a man who she did not, could not understand. That was probably what prompted her to go looking for Sam — she had a kind of book-hangover which could only be treated by heated discussion on the book itself, and he was the only person she knew who had read it.

She was thinking about Sam, and Gilderoy Lockhart's books, and her fear that the Memory Charm that had been used on her had damaged her mind in some subtle way, when she saw someone heading away from the Quidditch pitch and heading towards the forest. Her heart sped up. _Rose's mystery potioneer_. She hesitated for a moment — they _had_ decided not to play detective anymore, and for damn good reasons — but then she crept quickly down the stairs and followed the figure towards the trees. After all, she didn't have to follow them into the forest at all — she could just hide near where they entered and try to get a good look at their face when they left again.

She stayed at a distance and reached the edge of the forest, and she was about to find herself a hiding spot when she saw the figure was in fact just nearby, leaning over like they were searching the ground for something. She tiptoed closer, crouching behind a large tangle of brambles. Through the branches, she saw the person properly — it was a girl, pale with long dark hair, who had several jars stacked under her arm. She was scraping purple-green moss off a log and into one of the jars. When the jar looked about half full, the girl straightened and put the other jars down so she could tighten the lid on the one full of moss. There was something it one of the other jars, too; Lyra tried to get a better look when there was a crackling sound to her right.

" _DIFFINDO! DIFFINDO, DIFFINDO!"_ Three spells sliced through the brambles, one catching Lyra on the leg as she dived for cover behind the nearest tree. A sticklike creature burst from the undergrowth and ran at the other girl — she flicked her wand and it flew back over the brambles and ran off out of sight.

"I must be going nuts," said the girl aloud, and it was the voice that tipped Lyra off, the voice she had heard at one point declaring that the Slytherin Quidditch team was sure to win the Cup this year, because she was the best Chaser they could ask for...

Darcy deVerre gathered up her jars and tucked them under her robes. Then, after casting a look around the trees — Lyra held her breath until her vision started to swim — she turned away and left.

Lyra inhaled deeply and lay there in shock for a few minutes before pulling herself to her feet. She examined her leg — there was a shallow, straight cut on her calf where she had been hit.

_Diffindo..._

* * *

 

As Lyra made her way slowly back to the castle, she could see crowds swarming out of the Quidditch pitch and a few people being held aloft. She joined the group, looking for Rose or Scorpius, but they were nowhere to be found. A group of Hufflepuff first years stumbled in front of her — Sam Mirkwood was among them.

"Sam!"

He turned around, surprised. Sam was a tall boy, rather plump and round-faced, with freckled skin and light brown hair. He beamed at her. "Did you see? It was the best save in years!"

Lyra shook her head. "I missed it, I had to go find something in the library. Here, I finished the book." She handed him the copy of _Inventing Gilderoy Lockhart_.

"You missed it?" Sam replied, scandalised, as he took his book back. "Well, Gryffindor was way ahead of us and..."

Ahead of them, one of the Quidditch players had been lowered to the ground. His arm was bleeding and looked broken, but he was grinning widely. As they entered the castle, he was accosted by two fifth year girls, Imogen and Niamh, who were both laughing.

"You _punched_ a _Bludger?_ " Imogen was saying as Niamh tried to physically suppress her giggles by clamping her hand around her mouth. "Who the hell _punches a Bludger_ , you maniac?"

The boy, who Sam informed her was Liam Watson, the Hufflepuff Keeper, was cheerfully showing off his battle wound as the crowd followed him towards the hospital wing. Sam went to follow, but noticed the blood dripping from Lyra's leg. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, his victorious mood dampened by concern. "Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey too."

Lyra had a look around and, seeing that Rose and Scorpius were nowhere in sight, joined the crowd of cheering Hufflepuffs on the trip up to the hospital wing. They were stopped at the entrance by Martin and Eva, who sent all uninjured crowd members on their way, including Sam. Lyra waved goodbye to him and stumbled up to the top of the staircase.

"You can't come in if you haven't lost a limb," Martin said dryly when he saw her. Eva gave him a dirty look, but she was busy dissuading a gaggle of fourth-year girls from trying to follow the Quidditch players into the hospital wing.

"I hurt my leg," Lyra explained, pulling up her robes to show the gash in her calf.

Martin reluctantly let her past and, seeing Eva successfully shoo off the remaining Hufflepuffs, closed the door to the hospital wing. "Take off your shoe." Lyra sat down on a chair next to a sleeping redhaired girl and pulled off her shoe and bloodstained sock. Martin peered at the wound and prodded it with his wand. "That's odd," he said, eyes narrowing. "Did you accidentally curse yourself? This looks magically inflicted."

Lyra tried not to sound nervous as she said, "It was only the Cutting Charm, you know, 'diffindo'. We have to practise it for class and I must have tripped..."

"Hmm," Martin hmmed. He looked unimpressed with her explanation, as usual, though Lyra could hardly blame him seeing as she _was_ lying this time. "Alright, I'll get you some ointment and a bandage. Don't go cutting your toes off while I'm gone."

Lyra sat back in the chair, nervously pulling at her bloodied sock. Should she have told Martin the truth? But she wanted to tell Rose and Scorpius first, she wanted to be _certain_. She also didn't want tell-tale Martin knowing she'd been back in the Forbidden Forest so soon.

The girl in the bed next to her rolled over, making Lyra jump. She bit down hard on her lip, trying to use the pain to bring the world back into focus. Darcy was the necromancer — or at least, she had something to do with it. She wasn't a Ravenclaw prefect and she didn't seem like she'd do well with the doorknocker's riddles, so she couldn't be behind it all, but she was definitely up to something. Had she been in the Great Hall during the Halloween Feast? Lyra thought hard and concluded that she _hadn't_ seen Darcy at the Slytherin table that night. Ji-Hye had been there, as had Craig, but she couldn't recall seeing Katherine, Imogen, _or_ Jay until after the ghosts had started screaming. Would they need more than one person to try it? And the Valentine's Day ball... Was Darcy a prefect? Lyra wasn't sure, but she didn't think so. Either way, someone with the power to weaponise a simple Cutting Charm would have no trouble blasting open a cupboard door. But why look up Gryffindor? If she was really trying to bring someone back from the dead, why him and no one else, no one more recent? Or had they _already_ brought back someone else?

She was jolted from her thoughts by Martin's return with bandages and some healing ointment that Lyra could never remember the name of. Her foot ointmented and bandaged, she was handed a small jar of the stuff and shooed from the hospital wing, just in time to see the Hufflepuff girls from earlier approach the windows on broomsticks before the door closed behind her.

Lyra raced up to Ravenclaw Tower, ignoring the pain in her calf. A large group of sixth-years were going out of the common room; Lyra dodged past them and inside before the door could close. She glanced around the common room before running to the staircase that lead to the first year girls' dormitory. Rose was sitting on her bed, burying her face in a book, with Isobel and Aimée on one side.

"Oh dear, poor Rose's Quidditch team lost to Hufflepuff," Isobel was saying mockingly. "You'd almost think they were chosen for their family, not their talent."

"Just like her family do not care if one of them breaks the rules," Aimée added haughtily. "Putting _everyone_ in danger, no less!"

Feeling quite unlike herself, Lyra strode up to the two girls and said bluntly, "Sod off, you two."

"Excuse m—" Isobel started, but Lyra took them both by the sleeves of their robes and, with strength she didn't know she had, pulled them both out of the dormitory. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Isobel spluttered.

"Kicking you out," Lyra said, and slammed the door in their faces.

They tried to open it again, but Lyra dredged up a memory from Flitwick's Charms class, raised her wand and said, " _Colloportus!_ " The door stuck shut and the handle stopped moving.

"Lyra?"

She turned around to find Rose staring at her. "It's Darcy, Rose," she said, putting her wand back in her pocket. "Darcy's the one who attacked me. I followed her to the forest during the Quidditch match — she didn't go in far," Lyra added at Rose's incredulous look. "It wasn't dangerous. Well, not until she heard me following her and attacked me with a Cutting Charm." She sat down on the bed and showed Rose the cut on her leg beneath the bandage.

"It looks just like..." Rose said, eyes widening. Lyra nodded. "I've never heard of anyone using the Cutting Charm to attack someone before."

"Neither have I. It can't be a coincidence, can it?"

"No," Rose said firmly. "It can't be. And to think that I thought..."

Lyra frowned. "You thought what? You're the one who suggested Darcy."

She sighed. "I know, but recently I had this awful thought... Well, what if Fred was the necromancer? He's been really tired and he's been falling behind in his classes..."

"Fred?" Lyra asked, incredulous. "But he saved our lives!"

"That's just it," Rose replied miserably. "I can't think of how he and Cassian would immediately know how to kill that Acromantula unless they'd come across one before. But they must have got lucky, I guess. I mean, you _saw_ that it was Darcy, right?"

Lyra nodded emphatically, and Rose looked relieved. "It was definitely her. I mean, we don't have much proof other than what I saw, but..."

Rose looked like she was trying to swallow poison, but she said, "The teachers will find proof. We have to tell the Headmistress."


	19. Chapter 18: Petals of Asphodel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: memory tampering; poisoning, maybe; assault by magical scissors.
> 
> Something I couldn't fit in the fic itself: Neville and Hannah's twins are called Alice and Abigail, after their paternal and maternal grandmothers. (Hannah's mother isn't named in canon, to the best of my knowledge.)

It was two weeks since Darcy deVerre had been found Stunned just outside the Slytherin common room, and two weeks since the teachers had discovered large gaps in her memory owing to magical tampering. They were strong enough that the headmistress considered the possibility one of the teachers might have done it, and all of the staff had their wands checked by a visiting Ministry witch, to no avail. Darcy had no memory of leaving the Quidditch match that Saturday, nor any recollection of where she spent half of her nights these days. She was furious that her mind had been meddled with, but whoever had done so was careful to leave no incriminating evidence in her memories.

Rose and Lyra had told Scorpius about Darcy having been in the forest on Saturday, but they were afraid to tell the teachers. They had been on the way to the headmistress’s office when Darcy had been found, and it had immediately occurred to them that if someone had been powerful and watchful enough to knock out Darcy before — presumably — she went to the teachers, a couple of first years would hardly be a problem.

Scorpius, on the other hand, had different worries on his mind than the missing memories of Darcy deVerre. His father had told him in confidence that in the light of the attack on Darcy, he had been called to consult with Professor Kirtle on what the ingredients stolen from her storeroom could be used to make. Their best guess at the moment was a love potion, but there was nothing among the stolen ingredients that could create the kind of targeted affection that could make a person appear to fall in love. Scorpius had asked if this would result in the unfocused love that Professor Bones had mentioned self-administered Amortentia causing; his father had suggested the result would be more like obsession, though with who — or what — was unclear.

 _Be careful what you eat and drink_ , his letter warned. _If anything tastes strange, stop eating it. If anyone starts behaving oddly, tell your teacher. If_ **_everyone_ ** _is behaving oddly, send me an owl and hide until I come to get you._

Coming from his father, the warning was unusual and Scorpius knew the possibility of some unknown potion being created in secret had him worried. He told Rose and Lyra what his father had said, and together they secretly passed on the warnings about food and drink to their other friends, dropping a few hints to Andy and Steve and hoping Rupert and Thom would pick up on what they were doing. There was no hope for Isobel, though, who was firmly planted in that famous Egyptian river, denial — Aimée and Meghan, on the other hand, had taken the idea of a strange poison being made to heart and were increasingly suspicious of everything they ate.

All of this made it even harder to convince his parents to let him stay at Hogwarts for Easter.

It was probably mad that memory tampering and possible poisoning made the three of them all the more determined to catch whoever was causing all these things, but they had agreed the day Darcy had been found that they could not let whoever was behind the attacks on her and Lyra get away with it. If Darcy had been one half — or possibly third — of the necromancer's plot, there was still at least one person who knew the truth, and it was probably one of the female Ravenclaw prefects. Unfortunately, all of them were quite nice and frequently absent, so Scorpius had reasoned that they should see who stayed for Easter in case they decided to continue their necromantic experiments then.

The only problem was convincing their parents. Lyra, whose mother was largely unaware of the events at Hogwarts, had little trouble getting permission to stay, but Scorpius's mother and father interrogated him over several letters about why he didn't want to come home for Easter — eventually, he managed to convince them that he needed to practice Transfiguration and also that Lyra needed the company. Rose was less successful — although she managed to wrangle permission to stay from her suspicious parents, they had assigned one of her cousins to keep an eye on her.

As such, for the first week of the Easter break they were shadowed by Molly Weasley, who tried to rope Rose into various fun Malfoy-free activities such as going to the library to look at a random book or having a girly chat up in the near-deserted Gryffindor tower. Rose went along with these exciting plans for the first few days, before becoming fed up with it and telling her cousin to leave her alone. In a last ditch effort to separate her from Scorpius (and, by extension, Lyra), Molly invited her to talk Quidditch with Evelyn Harris, the Gryffindor Chaser. The plan backfired — while Rose had no trouble discussing Quidditch tips with Evelyn, it quickly became obvious that the two older girls were a bit more interested in each other than broom manufacture. As Rose told it, she quietly slipped away when the two of them got into a heated debate about the importance of OWLs — Molly, it seemed, tutored Evelyn in her spare time — and whatever had happened next, the pair became inseparable for the rest of the holiday, leaving Rose and her friends to explore the castle in search of the necromancer's lair.

It was disappointing, though unsurprising, that they were having absolutely no luck in this mission. Hogwarts was filled with secret passageways and hidden doors, and according to Rose the castle was so thoroughly enchanted that there were theories that it grew them over time. After days of checking behind every tapestry in the castle and tapping on every suit of armour, Scorpius was starting to wonder if anybody knew all of Hogwarts' secrets — there was a passageway from a loose panel on the first floor that emerged behind a portrait of Merlin near the hospital wing, a hidden spiral slide that could send a person from the Astronomy Tower to the dungeons in less than a minute, and even a staircase near Ravenclaw Tower that led to the hallway outside their Charms classroom. They were all brilliant discoveries, and the shortcut to Charms would be very useful on Friday mornings, but there was no sign that they had been used for anything but getting to classes on time.

Worse still, almost all of the older Ravenclaw students had stayed for the holiday, including all six prefects, so they were no closer to narrowing down their suspects. Scorpius felt reasonably confident they could rule out Imogen, who spent all her time buried in Transfiguration books and notoriously loathed Potions, but Rose hadn't agreed. "Remember how she plays Quidditch," she'd warned, which baffled Scorpius completely — he hadn't even remembered that Imogen was on the team.

They were, in a word, stuck.

"It's probably not a necromancer at all," Lyra said one evening in the library. She sounded disappointed. "I bet the ghost thing was just a weird coincidence. One of the seventh years must have snapped under the stress and is planning to poison us all."

"There _was_ that book on necromancy in the reading room," Rose reminded her, though she looked uncertain. "You did remember it being there, right?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't about necromancy exactly, just about legends of to do with death. Doorways to the underworld and gems that bring back dead girlfriends, that sort of stuff."

"Which would be in the restricted section," Rose said gloomily. It was a subject of contention to her that there should be a restriction on learning of any kind. "Unless it's still in the room somewhere, which seems unlikely."

"We could always look?" Scorpius suggested. He was ultimately relieved that there didn't seem to be any evidence for Rose's necromancer theory, but the fact there was a dangerous witch or wizard running around the school with a selection of powerful potions ingredients was a clear reality, and he couldn't help but feel the reading room was involved somehow. There was something he remembered seeing there, something out of place... But the memory was always just out of reach. He kept wanting to return to the room to get a better look at it, as if the absence of the strange thing would jog his memory, but when he'd tried the other day he hadn't been able to get in. "The reading room would be empty now, right?"

The girls looked unenthusiastic. "If it's not, I guess we could always wait and see who comes out of it for dinner," Lyra said, shrugging and standing up. Rose followed her lead reluctantly and they traced the now-familiar route to the bookshelf which Lyra swore had a copy of _The Hobbit_ in it, which Scorpius had never seen himself but took her word for it. As usual, Lyra pressed the hidden switch and the shelf slid back to reveal the hidden reading room.

What was it he had seen? Thinking furiously, Scorpius entered the room and sat down on the bed as he had many times before. He looked across at the window — the spring sunlight glowed through the stained glass eagle, but otherwise there was nothing to be seen. He slowly looked around the room from where he was sitting, trying to find a spot he recognised.

"Scorpius?" Lyra's voice broke through his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just thought I..." He stopped, staring at the shelf above the end of the bed. There was an empty ceramic vase there, but he knew he had seen it filled at some point — filled with flowering Asphodel.

He stood up on tiptoe to reach a hand onto the surface of the shelf. "OUCH!"

"Scorpius!"

He withdrew his hand, now bleeding, but triumphantly clutching a pair of silver scissors that had nipped him on the fingers. "Asphodel!" he declared, showing them his prize. "Someone was clipping Asphodel petals in here!"

"Petals?" Rose asked, ignoring Scorpius's bleeding hand and Lyra's look of shock. "I thought only the root was used for potionmaking."

"The flower's only used in a handful of potions, but I've seen scissors like these before at home. Dad said you have to use silver to clip the petals or they'll wither too fast. And I'm _sure_ I saw Asphodel in that vase once!"

Rose looked sceptically at the scissors. "Are they sharp on the outside too?"

"No, but they probably have a basic anti-theft charm," Scorpius replied, putting the scissors down on the desk and pulling out a crumpled handkerchief to wrap around his bleeding fingers. "Asphodel petals are used for very powerful healing potions, the kind that bring people back from the brink of death." A thought occurred to him. "So if you wanted to bring someone back from _beyond_ the brink..."

"Um, you should probably look at this..." Lyra was sitting at the desk with a folder full of parchment, staring at the writing on it. "I think these are records from the hospital wing."

Rose picked up the folder and checked the front. "1992 to 1993 school year," she read. "My parents would have been in school then, I think. I wonder how old they were..."

"The real question is, what is it doing here?" Lyra asked. "Those things are private, aren't they?"

"Somebody must've stolen it," Scorpius agreed. "What page was it open to?"

Rose flicked to the page Lyra had been looking at and her eyes widened in surprise. "This is about the Basilisk victims! Look, there's my mum's name, and Nearly Headless Nick! They were given Mandrake Draught on this day, to unpetrify them."

Lyra frowned. "How do you give a draught to a ghost?"

"Not sure, but it's right here: Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, Petrified, given Reviving Mandrake Draught, full recovery."

"Do you think we could ask Madam Pomfrey some questions about them when we return it?" Lyra suggested. "We _do_ have to return it, they're private records."

"While we're there, we can ask about these scissors," Scorpius added. "Only Potioneers and Healers have them — maybe they were stolen from there."

Scorpius led the way to the hospital wing, his hand tightly bound in his handkerchief and the scissors wrapped in Rose's. He was thinking very deeply about Asphodel flowers — he thought he remembered something about them being planted near graves, but nothing else was coming to mind. He would have to ask his father in his next letter, as their Herbology textbook would only have information about the roots, the most commonly used part of the plant.

The door to the hospital wing was ajar, and they could hear somebody whispering angrily, though Scorpius couldn't make out what they were saying. He knocked on the door and the voice fell silent.

Martin Samuels appeared in the doorway and Scorpius felt his heart sink. He had been hoping Madam Pomfrey or Eva Sandsguard would be there: Mister Samuels would never tell them anything.

Nonetheless, Scorpius presented the trainee healer with the folder they had found. "These were in the common room," he said, as they had agreed a Ravenclaw would most likely have access to the reading room. "They looked like records, so we thought we'd better bring them back here."

Martin's eyes widened. "These are private records!" he said, somewhere between bafflement and outrage. "Nobody has access to these but Madam Pomfrey, Eva, and myself."

"Well, we only _found_ them," Rose said indignantly. "Scorpius got attacked by some scissors next to them, _and_ we brought them all the way—" Lyra and Scorpius had both elbowed her at once, and Rose stopped before she could insult him.

Luckily, Martin wasn't paying attention to the rest of her rant. "What scissors?" He asked suspiciously. Rose handed him her handkerchief with the scissors inside. Scorpius was about to warn Martin that they might nip him when the man unwrapped the silver clippers and said, "These are mine. We need them to harvest ingredients for healing potions. Where in Morgan's name did you find them?"

"Ravenclaw Tower," Rose replied, just as Lyra asked, "Who's Morgan?"

Martin nearly dropped the scissors. "Merlin's name, sorry. I'm just a little... Were these just lying around or did you go snooping in people's dormitories again?"

"They were just on a table in the common room," Scorpius said before Rose could object to the word 'snooping'. "The prefects might have forgotten them there, I suppose."

"Prefects do not have access to these files," Martin replied tightly. "And they certainly don't have access to my personal belongings. Thank you for bringing them back."

He went to close the door, but Scorpius asked, "Please, could you heal my hand?" Blood was dripping through his handkerchief now, and he was starting to feel a bit lightheaded.

Reluctantly, the healer opened the door again, letting the three of them into the hospital wing. There was only one patient, a sleeping girl in Gryffindor robes, and the matron and her other apprentice were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Martin had been talking to himself. If so, he seemed eager to get back to the conversation — he sealed Scorpius's cut in a flash and shooed them out of the hospital wing faster than they had entered, watching as they walked down the stairs and then slamming the door closed. Scorpius winced — the sleeping patient wouldn't be sleeping any more.

"That was weird," Rose said in a low voice as they made their way back to the common room. "Mister Samuels is always rude, but that was..."

"Maybe the records are really important," Lyra said. "Or maybe he's just in a bad mood because he hasn't had anyone to yell at all holidays."

"Or maybe," Scorpius said quietly, "he let someone borrow those things — and he's realised they're up to something."

* * *

Professor Longbottom had gone to his house in Hogsmeade for the holidays to be with his wife and newborn children, but he still spent an hour at the greenhouses every morning tending to the plants. The day after they found the records in the reading room, Rose led them down to the greenhouses to intercept him when he arrived.

"Hello!" he called when he saw them. "Have you come to do some extra Herbology?"

"If you like," Rose said brightly. "How are the twins?"

"Still up at all hours," Professor Longbottom said sheepishly — Scorpius noticed that he had very dark rings around his eyes and looked exhausted despite his smile. "What are you three up to?"

"We wanted to know what people use asphodel for," Rose replied. "The petals, not the root."

"Asphodel?" Professor Longbottom frowned. "The root is used in the Draught of Living Death, I know that much. I've never heard of anyone using the flower, but I don't know much about potions."

"How can you not know about potions if you're a Herbology teacher?" Scorpius asked.

"I had a bad Potions teacher," was all Professor Longbottom said to that, and Scorpius felt himself going red — he hadn't meant the question to sound so harsh.

"What do you know about it... herbologically?" Lyra asked.

Professor Longbottom looked thoughtful. "Well, it's always been closely associated with death. Muggles in Ancient Greece thought white asphodel grew in the fields of the underworld. You can't make the Draught of Living Death without it — nothing else can create a sleep so deep without actually killing you. It's native to the Mediterranean, so we grow the flowers in greenhouses with warmer temperatures. Is there anything in particular you were thinking of?"

Scorpius and Rose exchanged glances. They had been hoping that Professor Longbottom would immediately recognise it as part of some dangerous necromantic ritual — not that, now that Scorpius thought about it, they had any reason to think that he would know anything about Dark magic. It was hard enough to believe that their friendly, slightly rotund Herbology professor was a war hero — it was nigh impossible to imagine him researching evil sorcery.

"We were just wondering," Rose said after a moment. "Do you need help in the greenhouses?"

Professor Longbottom smiled. "Thanks for the offer, but you'd better not. I'm pruning the Venomous Tentacula today and I wouldn't want you to get hurt." He turned to enter the greenhouse, then paused. "I think people used to believe that asphodel was a favourite food of the dead, although I can't remember where. See you next week!"

He disappeared into the greenhouse, leaving Scorpius wondering. _A favourite food of the dead_... Was that how you gave a ghost a potion?


	20. Chapter 19: Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Lots of references to dead characters; magic-assisted manipulation; abuse of positions of trust; assault; murder.

The Hogwarts Express arrived late Sunday evening, and with it all the students back from their Easter holiday. Rose met Albus and Ellie in the Entrance Hall and hugged them both, laughing when Ellie grumbled that she had thought her mother would make her miss the train with all the reminders to brush her teeth and do her homework early. Scorpius waved to them, but he was over with Millie Tirnblüd and Orpheus Lloyd, his friends from Slytherin. Lyra was talking to Sam Mirkwood about their favourite Wizard adventurer, Gilderoy Lockhart — how either of them could stand him, Rose would never know.

She was happy to see her friends back at the school, but even the arrival of hundreds of chatting, laughing students didn't get rid of the strange feeling that had followed her since they had found the medical records in the reading room. It was the kind of feeling that made a dog raise its hackles — a lingering sense of anticipation and dread.

The weather did not seem to have the same feelings. As April rushed along towards May, the spring sunshine glowed through the castle windows and gave every classroom a warmth that the Scottish wildlands had likely not known for years. Students spent their days outside, practising spells and reading under trees, while the four Quidditch teams fought over the pitch, wanting to practise while the weather was so nice. But exams were looming for all, the first years included, and the OWL and NEWT students were noticeably zombielike these days. Rose spent a lot of time with Scorpius and Lyra out near the lake, practising turning cockroaches into scarabs and trying to remember the five differences between a dementor and a lethifold. Once, she noticed her cousin Fred heading up to the memorial site on the hill, but when she went to call to him, he didn't seem to hear her.

Scorpius had come up blank on asphodel information. His father had cottoned on to the fact he wasn't asking for class or out of curiosity and had refused to answer any questions on the subject. He did, however, tell his son that after consulting with Professor Kirtle and her predecessor, Horace Slughorn, he had made an attempt to replicate the potion they thought might have been made using some of the stolen ingredients. The result was unrefined, but Mr Malfoy had reason to believe that it would make the drinker obsessive and susceptible to suggestion, and had again instructed them to be careful what they ate and drank. If anything was out of the ordinary, he warned, then they should all leave with their parents after the memorial service. He didn't usually come, Scorpius told Rose, but Astoria Malfoy did — her family had died in the battle.

On the morning of the second of May, Rose got up early and dressed in her best black robes, wrestling her frizzy hair into the tidiest plait she could manage. The crowds were already arriving by the time she finished breakfast and left the castle, groups of friends and family in mourning colours bringing flowers to the graves of those who had died twenty years earlier. As she wandered up the hill towards the crowds, Rose noticed that there were no markings on the graves to say if they had been on Voldemort's side or Hogwarts'. She remembered seeing that before, even being angry that they would bury heroes next to murderers and bigots, but now she was reading the names on the gravestones, and the dates, and she wondered if it really mattered who you fought for if you died at sixteen. Crabbe was buried next to Creevey, and it was fitting, not because they were both as good or kind as the other but because they were both boxed up beneath the earth, dead before they turned twenty.

Rose tore her eyes away from the inscriptions and began searching for a group of mourners with red hair. It didn't take long to find them, her mother and father standing with Hugo along with all of Rose's uncles and aunts and her paternal grandparents — her grandmother hugged her tightly and told her how tall she was getting these days — and Harry's godson Teddy and his grandmother Andromeda, and Rose's younger cousins Roxanne, Lucy, Louis, and Lily, none of whom were old enough to come to Hogwarts yet. Soon they were joined by the other Weasley and Potter cousins, Victoire sidling over to Teddy and discreetly taking his hand, Albus and James leaping on their father and mother in excitement and in turn being peppered with questions by their sister Lily, Dominique greeting her parents with a kiss on both cheeks, and Molly showing up only to drag _her_ parents off in a different direction, in order to discuss what she would only refer to as "a personal matter, James, and please keep your nose out of it." George looked relieved when his son Fred finally appeared — both of them looked as drawn out as the other, Rose thought, concerned. She hoped George hadn't been working too hard.

Hugo, her usually nerve-ridden little brother, had mumbled hello to her before running off with Roxie and Lily to explore further afield, but rather than joining them like she had in past years, Rose stayed with the group and she held her parents' hands as they wandered among the gravestones, pointing out the names they knew and how they remembered them.

"That's Colin Creevey," her father said, pointing to the grave she had been looking at before. "Blimey, I remember when he was in first year, obsessed with Harry... 'Course, he joined the DA when he was only fourteen. Brave kid, Colin."

"There are Teddy's parents," Rose's mother said quietly as they approached two headstones bearing the names Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. Behind them, Andromeda burst into tears at the sight of her daughter's grave, as she did every year, and Teddy, whose own eyes were far from dry, hugged her close. Harry stood on her other side and patted her shoulder gently, staring down at the graves and looking utterly lost.

The rest of the group left the three of them there in peace, heading towards the one grave that Rose had always been able to remember. The first time she had seen the name Fred Weasley on the headstone, her cousin Fred had been not been with them and she had cried for days, convinced that it was him buried on the hill. Only when she had next gone into the shop and seen him had it occurred to her that there was some other Fred Weasley, and much later she had learned that it was George's twin brother.

The grave was much like any other, but the grass around it had been trodden flatter than almost any other place, as every member of the extended Weasley family had been there to pay their respects. Grandma Weasley held her husband's hand tightly as they lay flowers on the grave of their dead son. Angelina hugged George, who was staring dead-eyed at his twin's resting place, and Fred...

Fred — her cousin Fred — was gone.

He would never have left his family on a day like this, unless...

Rose carefully let go of her parents' hands and retraced her steps back as far as Teddy's parents' graves when she spotted a figure over near the forest, moving rapidly away from the memorial grounds. Rose ran after them, ignoring the sound of someone calling her name behind her. She half-slid down the hill and sprinted towards the forest, but the figure was already disappearing out of sight. She didn't slow down, instead running straight through the trees after them.

" _Fred! FRED!_ "

He stopped abruptly and Rose stumbled, nearly running into him. He caught her by the shoulders and stared at her like he couldn't quite tell what he was seeing. "Rosie, what are you doing? You shouldn't have followed me in here!"

"Fred," she said, panting. "I know. I know what you did. I know what you're planning to do, and you can't, you just _can't_!" Because, quite suddenly, she did know what he must have done, and she was starting to realise why.

"Rosie, what are you talking about?" He looked almost like he didn't know, except for a spasm of guilt that crossed his face when he said her name. He was lying.

Rose squared her shoulders. "You didn't follow us into the forest that day," she said, "because you were already in there, and so was your friend. You knew _exactly_ how to kill that Acromantula because you'd done it before, all the other times you've been out in the forest, trying to figure out how to bring back a dead wizard."

Fred shook his head wildly. "Rosie, that's... I mean, I don't know—"

"What would you do to save your dad, Fred?"

Immediately he said, "Anything."

He looked stricken that he had admitted that much, but Rose, somewhere between terror and manic exhilaration, knew she had to press him further. "Anything is too much, Fred. What were you going to do?"

"Nothing! Now you need to get out of here before you get eaten by a giant spider or—"

"Were you trying to bring him back?" Rose asked, begging it not to be true but knowing it was. "The other Fred?"

Fred's shoulders slumped. Wordlessly, he nodded.

Rose stared at him, the final piece having fallen into place. "Fred," she said earnestly. "It's not your fault, someone's enchanting you! Someone's been drugging you with a— a sort of love potion, only it makes you fall in love with an idea, not a person. Whoever else is in on it, they tricked you!"

He shook his head. "No, I..." And then the truth of it seemed to dawn on him. "I would've sworn we'd never go this far..."

After a moment, his eyes widened in panic, and he turned and started running deeper into the woods. Rose followed him, stumbling and calling out that it was going to be okay, that he had been tricked, but seemingly he couldn't hear her. He just kept running until suddenly they found themselves in a clearing with a large rock at its centre. Fred rushed forward and reached a hand under the rock, his panic intensifying. "It was here, I swear it was here!"

"What was here?" Rose asked desperately.

"Rose, look—!"

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Rose and Fred's wands went flying through the air and were caught by Cassian, who was standing behind them. He wasn't alone — Scorpius and Lyra were behind him, being restrained at wandpoint by Katherine Tredwell and a boy Rose recognised as a Hufflepuff prefect. The boy had his two wands sticking out of his robe pocket — Scorpius's and Lyra's.

"They followed you," Cassian told Fred in a strangled voice. "We thought..."

"Are you trying to steal the stone, Fred?" Katherine asked in disbelief. "Ow!" Lyra had kicked her in the shin. Katherine jumped, but kept a strong grip on her wand. She whispered something and Lyra's legs snapped together. "What was that for?"

Lyra glowered at her. "I _trusted_ you," she said fiercely. "You're the one that charmed my memories, _aren't you?_ "

Katherine's eyes widened in alarm. "How did you—"

”Flitwick always said you were one of his best students," Lyra replied bitterly. "And we knew it had to be a Ravenclaw prefect to get into the dormitories and know which bed I slept in. Plus, nobody would question a prefect running around at night."

"How much do these three know?" the Hufflepuff prefect demanded. "Did you tell them, Fred?"

"We know loads," Scorpius said before Fred could reply. "We know that Darcy was with you until you messed with her memories!" He looked accusingly at Katherine.

"That was you, Kat?" Fred asked, stunned. "I thought she was in a Charms accident, a spell backfire."

Katherine looked uncomfortable. "It was just between me and Merva. She said Darcy was going to get us into trouble, and I'm better at Memory Charms than her..."

Cassian was approaching Rose and Fred as she spoke, his wand raised, but Fred didn't seem to notice. He was staring at Katherine. "Kat, we've gone way too far."

"What, because I used a Memory Charm on Darcy? S-she only wanted this to prove that her family was really descended from Merlin, she didn't really care about us, about what it meant... Even if you were trying to steal the stone, at least you have a reason!"

Rose saw Fred go pale and spoke up, sounding braver than she felt. "He's not stealing it, it's already gone!"

Cassian stopped just before he reached them. "What do you mean, gone?"

"I was going to take it to the headmistress," Fred admitted. "But when I got here, it was gone. Look for yourselves."

Cassian reached towards the rock, then hesitated.

"We'll watch your back, Cas," the other Hufflepuff boy said, holding Scorpius firmly by the shoulder and pointing his wand at Fred. "Just see if the stone's there."

Cassian knelt down and felt around under the rock. "It's not there," he said finally. Shakily, he pointed his wand at Fred. " _Accio stone!_ " Nothing happened.

Katherine looked ill. "Who could've taken it? Darcy wouldn't remember..."

"Maybe Merva took it back to the castle for some reason," Cassian suggested, uneasy. "I could go look for her..."

"I'll do it," Katherine said hastily. She let go of Lyra, who swayed on her stuck-together feet but didn't fall, and began to run back in what must have been the direction to the castle.

Rose inched towards Cassian, trying to get ahold of her wand, but he moved to face them. "Why were you going to turn us in, Fred?" he asked in a low voice.

"We've been bewitched," Fred replied desperately. "Someone's been making us do this, suggesting, influencing us—"

"That _someone_ is death," the Hufflepuff prefect interrupted. "Everybody says that it's natural but what the hell is natural about dying at thirty-four, or at your mum's age, Cas, or at sixteen like your uncle, Fred? What’s _natural_ about all those people in the ground out there, who left everyone they loved behind?” He was white with rage, his wand hand shaking. “I just want my aunt back so I don't have to spend any more years being shoved off on people who don't want me, and there's no spell making me do that."

"It's not a spell, it's a potion," Scorpius told his captor, glaring. "And it's made you so obsessed about something that you'll do something like necromancy and not even realise—"

" _Shut up!"_ the boy yelled, as he turned to face Scorpius, he failed to notice Lyra carefully reaching over to the wands in his pocket...

Cassian saw her just as she managed to hop close enough to reach. "Tony, look out!" But it was too late. Lyra had her wand in hand and pointed at Scorpius's captor.

" _Wingardium leviosa!_ " she shouted, and Tony went flying up into the canopy, only to crash down a few metres away. Quickly, Fred wrestled his wand back from Cassian and hissed, " _Petrificus totalus_ ," leaving the other boy in a full body-bind as he reclaimed Rose's wand for her. Lyra was leaning on Scorpius, trying not to fall over — Fred waved his wand in her direction and her legs sprang free.

"Is he alright?" she asked, looking at where Tony was lying several metres away.

Fred went to have a look as Rose rejoined her friends. "Tony's fine," he called. "But we've got to get back to the castle, Merva must have the stone."

"We can't just _leave_ those two here, though," Scorpius said anxiously.

Fred, looking like he was trying desperately to stay calm, nodded and looked around them. Spotting a fallen hollow tree that had split in two, he said, " _Lectus linteum!_ " The two wooden pieces whitened and warped until they were two adult-sized stretchers. He and the three first years pulled the frozen and unconscious boys onto the stretchers and he levitated them. "Come on, we have to go this way."

They made their way through the forest as fast as they could without bashing the stretchers into the trees. "What _is_ the stone?" Rose asked as she tried to keep up. "What's Katherine going to do with it?"

"It's not Kat I'm worried about. If she can't find Merva, though..." Fred shook his head and didn't speak again until they broke through the edge of the forest into the sunlight. They were spotted immediately by Professor Hagrid, who came running up to them, Professor Shafiq in tow.

"What in Merlin's name were you doing in there?" the Transfiguration master demanded, while Hagrid took one look at the two boys on stretchers and asked, "What the ruddy 'ell happened to them?"

"Fell out of a tree, full body bind," Fred replied. "Have you see Katherine go past here? We need to find her."

"These boys need to be sent to the hospital wing and _you_ need to go to the headmistress's office," Shafiq said sharply. "Surely you didn't take three first years into the Forbidden Forest, Mister Weasley?"

"We followed him," Rose said, "and it's those boys who took our wands and tried to stop us from leaving. We really need to find Katherine, Professor, she has the stone!"

"What stone?" Hagrid asked.

Rose couldn't answer that, so Fred did. "The Resurrection Stone, Professor."

" _What?_ " Rose gaped at him.

"That's a fairytale," Shafiq objected.

"It's real. Merva and Cassian found it in the forest at the start of the year, and we kept it in there so no one in the castle would find it. It doesn't bring people back properly, they were more like ghosts — but Merva thought it was just unfinished. We were working on it at night... Back near Hallowe'en, Tony had a plan to put more magic in it, make it more powerful, but when we tried that it cracked and—"

"And that's what made the ghosts scream that night," Shafiq said quietly. "Rubeus, would you mind getting these two boys to the hospital wing? I will take these four to Minerva's office and we'll find out what we can about this Resurrection Stone. If you see Miss Tredwell, send her up as well."

The four of them followed Professor Shafiq up to the headmistress's office in silence, although Rose was dying to ask Fred what they had been doing with the stone. And if Cassian and his sister were trying to bring back their mother, Tony his aunt and Fred his namesake, who was Katherine trying to revive? _The lion_ , a voice whispered in her memory. _The lion will walk once more._

"Fred," she burst out just as they turned the corner to the headmistress's office. "Did Katherine want—"

She stopped abruptly: Katherine Tredwell was standing in front of the headmistress's office, talking with Professor McGonagall. The headmistress looked stunned by what she was hearing, but Katherine was distracted by their arrival. "I couldn't find her," she told Fred with a look of defeat. "I think she's gone."

Suddenly, they heard screams of agony coming from below them. "The ghosts," McGonagall breathed.

Fred stared. "She's still here... She going to bring someone back!"

Professor McGonagall recovered the fastest. "Miss Tredwell, Mister Weasley, is there _anywhere_ you haven't check where you believe Miss Firgreen may be?"

They exchanged glances. "The Astronomy tower," Katherine said. "She always said..."

Professor McGonagall didn't wait for her to finish, instead racing in the direction of the Astronomy Tower with Shafiq close behind her. Rose ran after them, and she could hear someone else following behind her, but she didn't turn around to check who it was.

They came to the door at the foot of the tower, which the headmistress found was locked. Together the two teachers blasted the door from its hinges — McGonagall raced inside while Shafiq quickly swept away the debris. There were more enchantments on the next landing of the staircase, Shield Charms and others, which the headmistress tore through with a swipe of her wand. McGonagall flew up the spiral staircase of the tower, calling out Merva's name, but when she reached the landing, she fell silent. Rose stumbled up beside her and froze.

The man was tall and broad, with dark red hair and a long beard covering the lower half of his ruddy face. He was wearing gold-embroidered robes under a chain mail shirt, and at his waist was an empty sword sheath. His brown eyes stared blankly at the ceiling from where he lay and the hilt of a knife protruded from a gap in his armour just above his heart.

Rose heard someone behind her give a little scream. She tore her eyes away from the corpse to look at Lyra, who had sunk to the floor. "That's him," she whispered, unable to look away. "I saw his portrait in that book. _That's Godric Gryffindor_."


	21. Chapter 20: Necromancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Death; emotional manipulation; involuntary consumption of mind-altering substances; abuse of a position of trust.

Professor McGonagall had sent Scorpius, Lyra, and Rose back to her office while she sent an urgent owl to the Ministry and Professor Shafiq questioned Fred and Katherine about Merva's involvement in their necromantic experiment. The three of them sat in the hard straight-backed chairs outside the office while they waited, unable or unwilling to speak. Lyra was pale with shock and Rose looked like she might be sick. Scorpius didn't know if he looked similarly ill, but he felt like his stomach had turned to lead. Necromancy was Dark magic, of course, but it wasn't _murder_.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Are Fred and Katherine going to be blamed for that?" he whispered to Rose. She looked up, horror dawning on her face.

"No, they couldn't... No! It wasn't their fault, it was that potion someone stole ingredients for, the..."

"We're calling it the Obsession Elixir for now," came a deep, quiet voice. Professor Shafiq had returned, looking unsettled. "Somebody — we believe probably Miss Firgreen — spiked the bottles of Butterbeer the group consumed at meetings with it. Professor Kirtle is working on an antidote with some Potioneers who were here for the memorial."

"So Fred's going to be okay?" Rose asked in a small voice.

Shafiq nodded, giving her a weary smile. "They should all be fine. We have people searching the grounds for Merva now, so when we find her we'll see if she's behind all this. The Resurrection Stone... I always thought those Deathly Hallows people were mad."

"But how did she bring him back like that?" Scorpius asked. "Fred said that it only brought back sort of shadows of people, didn't he?"

"Merva Firgreen is a brilliant young woman," Shafiq replied, a little sadly. "If anyone could figure it out, she could."

Rose's eyes widened. "The records in the reading room..."

Scorpius suddenly remembered their theory. "Professor Shafiq, it was a potion she used! It had asphodel petals in it!"

Shafiq frowned. "How do you know this?"

"We found records from the hospital wing in a hidden corner of the library," Lyra said, catching on. "It said they used a potion to make a ghost recover from being petrified by a Basilisk — she must have found out it was possible from that..."

"Where are these records?"

"We returned them to the hospital wing," Lyra said, frowning. "But there was something else... Something odd."

"You mean the silver petal scissors?" Scorpius asked.

"No, I mean... I can't remember now. It doesn't matter."

Shafiq was more interested in what they'd already said. "If she found a way to truly resurrect someone, body _and_ soul... That would be a very dangerous thing. But it could be done. Leslie has always told me how talented a potion-maker that girl is, and if she invented one potion, why not another? But why? Why revive a man only to kill him? And if that _was_ Godric Gryffindor..." He seemed to realise he was speaking out loud and shook his head. "Don't worry about that now, though. I'm sure the headmistress would just like to ask you about how you discovered this group — Miss Tredwell has already given us the names of those involved, including the unfortunate Miss deVerre."

"Oh!" Scorpius had forgotten about Darcy. "Will she be able to get her memories back?"

"A spell is best counteracted by the person who cast it," Shafiq replied. "In this case, it appears to have been Miss Tredwell, so as soon as she is recovered we will ask her to remove the charms from Miss deVerre and yourself, Miss Jones. She and the others will have their actions reported to the Auror's office, but the circumstances will be taken into account. The potion they were given is a very dangerous substance, and I have no doubt that it has warped their judgement."

Rose looked relieved, but Shafiq sounded grave. Before Scorpius could worry about what the Elixir could really do, McGonagall arrived with Fred and a couple who must have been his parents in tow. Scorpius saw a girl a bit younger than himself clutching the red-haired man's arm — that must be Fred's sister. The three of them looked very confused as to why they were being brought to the headmistress's office, but the woman had a protective hand on her son's shoulder.

McGonagall opened the door to her office. "Come in," she said, and glanced at Scorpius, Rose, and Lyra. "You three had better come too. I would very much like to know how long you have been aware of this stone's existence."

"And _I_  want to know how long you were planning to keep this from me!"

Behind them, Rose's friend Elin was tugging on the sleeve of a woman in Muggle clothing. "Mum," she was saying, "Professor McGonagall didn't know anything about the necromancer, we thought she wouldn't believe us!"

Professor McGonagall looked from Elin to her mother and said, "You'd better come in too, then, Ms Chang."

The headmistress had to summon extra chairs to seat everyone, with Scorpius, Rose, Elin, and Lyra sitting in front of her desk on the right. She gave them a stern look and turned to Fred's parents and Elin's mother.

"Late this morning, it was brought to my attention by Miss Tredwell that a dangerous magical artefact has been present on the grounds for some time," she began. "She and several other students, including young Mister Weasley here, had found it and had been studying it in secret for most of the year. We believe that one of these students may have been using magical means to prevent the others from leaving the group. According to Miss Tredwell, they had not met since before the Easter holidays — the effects of the potion may have been wearing off, prompting both Miss Tredwell and Mister Weasley to attempt to warn the faculty. _However_ ," and here her eyes turned towards the four first years, "I am given to believe that they were _not_ the first with the opportunity to expose this group. Do any of you have an explanation for your actions, or _lack thereof?_ "

"We didn't _know_ about the stone," Rose protested. "Well, not until today, anyway."

"What stone?" Ellie asked.

"The Resurrection Stone," Scorpius and Rose replied at the same time.

Ms Chang's eyes widened. Mrs Weasley frowned and Mr Weasley went pale. Fred's shoulders sagged and he wouldn't meet Professor McGonagall's gaze. Ellie, on the other hand, sat up straighter. "Is _that_ what they were going to use? How many did there end up being?"

"Five," Rose said. "Wait, no, six at first. They kicked Darcy out after a bit and modified her memories."

"Katherine and Merva did," Scorpius corrected quietly. "The others didn't know about it — or at least, Fred didn't."

"If you were unaware of the stone's existence, Miss Weasley, what _did_ you know about your cousin's activities?" McGonagall asked.

"I didn't know Fred had anything to do with it," Rose replied. "After Hallowe'en and what happened to the ghosts, we thought someone must be trying necromancy, and they might have been the ones who attacked Lyra."

Before the headmistress could ask why on earth they had suspected _necromancy_ , Scorpius added, "We found some books on death-related artefacts in... in a secret place in the library, and then we remembered what the Sorting Hat said at the start of the year..."

" _The lion will walk once more_ ," Fred quoted softly. "I wondered... Well, I thought Darcy might've tried him as a backup if it turned out Merlin really didn't have any kids. We always assumed both Cas and Merva just wanted to bring back their mum."

"We thought it was Darcy," Lyra added, "and we were going to tell you, professor, even if you didn't believe us, but then she was attacked and..."

"And you suddenly thought that a potential practitioner of Dark magic was none of my concern?" McGonagall asked sternly.

Lyra blushed. "We thought we had the wrong idea about Darcy. And after Scorpius said he'd seen asphodel in the rea.... in the library, we were pretty confused about what they might be up to."

"Where in the library were you finding all these things, Miss Jones?" the headmistress asked with a touch of exasperation.

To their surprise, it was Ms Chang who answered. "It must have been in Helena Ravenclaw's reading room," she said, then explained, "I-I spent a lot of time in there after Cedric's... After the last Triwizard Tournament."

"Filius did mention something like that once... But how did Miss Firgreen, if she is the culprit, gain access to the room? I was under the impression it only revealed itself to members of Ravenclaw house."

"Kat would have shown it to her," Fred said unexpectedly. "They've been best friends since first year, she'd never have kept anything from Merva. I would've said that Merva felt the same way, until she disappeared with the stone."

"But Miss Firgreen did not take the Resurrection Stone with her," Professor McGonagall said. "Whatever plans she had for it, they were done or discarded by the time she left. We found the stone pressed into the dead man's hand."

George Weasley snapped to attention, as did Ms Chang. Next to Scorpius, Lyra straightened in her seat. "Are you saying that you _have_ the Resurrection Stone?" Mr Weasley said in a hoarse voice.

In response, Professor McGonagall pulled a small box from her pocket and placed it on the desk. She opened it carefully, revealing a small dark stone with a deep crack in the middle — something glimmered within the stone, but Scorpius could not seem to get it in focus. He gave up and looked at Professor McGonagall. Behind her glasses, her eyes looked almost sad.

"As our students' activities have shown us, this is a very dangerous artifact. According to Miss Tredwell, any shades who they revived started to feel great pain almost immediately, and begged to be returned to whence they came, wherever that may be. It will be handed into the Ministry and, I suspect, destroyed. However..." She paused. "I would like to understand what has happened here today. One of my students is missing, five have been drugged, and a group of first years knew there was a necromancer in the castle before any teachers or Ministry officials even suspected it. There is only one person who can tell us the purpose behind all this, and he is lying dead in the Astronomy Tower when he ought to have died almost a thousand years ago. Therefore, there is one thing I feel I must do before handing the Resurrection Stone to the Ministry."

Scorpius held his breath, certain that someone would object, but no one made a sound. They were all watching the Resurrection Stone, and their eyes followed it as Professor McGonagall carefully picked it up, turned it over three times and said loudly, "Godric Gryffindor."

Quite suddenly, he was there, standing just in front of Professor McGonagall's desk. But it wasn't Godric Gryffindor. This shade was more a boy than a man, maybe seventeen, a tall, handsome figure with tousled brown hair and a warm smile. Behind him, Scorpius heard someone gasp.

The shade turned to Professor McGonagall and said gently, "Godric Gryffindor is twice dead, and cannot be returned to this world. He must rest now."

The headmistress had gone pale, and mouthed something, unable to speak. From behind him, Scorpius heard Ms Chang's voice whisper, " _Cedric?_ "

The shade spun around, unerringly fast for someone not quite solid, and beamed at Elin’s mother, who was now standing. "Cho!" He walked across the room and stood less than a foot from her, saying again in a softer voice, "Cho..."

The woman looked shocked. "Cedric, you..."

"I died," he said quietly. "I _am_ dead, Cho. But I..." He shook his head and gave a sheepish grin. "I'm happy you're alive. My parents, they... They couldn't move on. They never have. But you're _alive_. Don't forget how important that is."

He leaned forwards and gently kissed her cheek, and then he was gone. Ms Chang collapsed back into her chair, eyes wide.

There was no time to ask who that man had been, however, because as soon as he was gone another figure appeared in front of the headmistress's desk. This one was more familiar — he looked just like a younger version of George Weasley. He strode across the room to the real George Weasley and pulled him into a hug. The living man hugged him back so tightly that if his twin had been alive, he would have been suffocated.

Fred Weasley grinned at his brother, then turned to McGonagall. "Gryffindor's body was returned to him through a powerful potion, but his spirit was still drawn to the other world. When they were done with him, they killed his new body out of mercy. Say, my favourite nephew, how much other mischief have you been up to?"

Rose's cousin Fred looked up, startled. "Uh, not much," he said nervously.

The older Fred snorted. "What a goody-two-shoes you've raised, Georgey. And with Angelina! I bet you _comforted_ each other in your grief, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows at his brother, who gave an astonished-sounding laugh. Mrs Weasley — who must have been Angelina — shook her head, laughing and crying at the same time. The shade continued cheerfully, "Well, can't stay long. Bye, Angelina. How dare you raise a Fred to be well-behaved! Goodbye, Georgey." He hugged his brother again. "I'll see you again — but you've got to take the long way 'round. Promise?"

"Promise," George whispered hoarsely.

"Good," the shade replied firmly. "Oh, and Roxie?" The little girl looked up. "Give 'em hell for me, kid." She nodded, and, with one last smile, Fred Weasley vanished.

There was one last visitor, though. A very tall, gangly man of forty or so was leaning on McGonagall's desk, looking around curiously. Unlike the other two, he was wearing Muggle clothes. "Godric Gryffindor continued his task out of love after the death of his friends," the man said rather absently. "When it was complete, he realised how terrible their creation was and hid it away where it could not be found. This is what the summoner sought. Say, are those candles floating? Are you all witches, then?"

Scorpius, who had been having a strange enough day already, was utterly baffled by who this man could be, until he heard a small voice next to him say, "Dad?"

Lyra was gripping the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles were white. The Muggle man saw her and his face lit up. He knelt in front of her to see her face and worry came over his own when he saw that she was crying. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Lyra didn't look at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't... I can't do anything. I take bad notes and I'm going to fail Transfiguration and Mum's barely writing to me and— I'm a terrible witch. I've tried and tried and everyone else is still ahead of me. I'm so sorry..."

The man squeezed her hand. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm always proud of you, Lyra, and so is your mum... But she's going through a hard time at the moment. You are too, I know, but you've got to be patient with each other. She'll come back to you, in the end." He flinched suddenly — the pain was coming. Recovering, he took his daughter's other hand and said in a voice so quiet that Scorpius could barely hear him, "All the great heroes start out underdogs, remember? You'll be the best witch that ever was, sweetheart. You'll see. I love you."

"Dad—" Lyra began, but her father was gone.

Professor McGonagall dropped the Resurrection Stone like it had burnt her — it ricocheted off her desk and skittered across the floor, but nobody went to fetch it. Cho Chang sitting in shock, eyes wide and shining with tears, as Elin held her hand; the Weasleys, Rose included, were hugging each other tightly; and Lyra stood where her father's shade had been and, with a half-gasp, half-sob, ran from the room. 

* * *

 

The hospital wing was in disarray. No less that five Potioneers were camped out in one corner, pouring strange-smelling liquids into a dozen empty Butterbeer bottles, while five of the beds were taken up by older students who were in various states of distress. Three adults were seated in a row on the other side of the room, taking Calming Draughts for the shock, while a curious ten-year-old girl was being restrained by Eva as she tried to catch a glimpse inside the potions cabinet. Madam Pomfrey had shooed out various well-wishers, family members, and curious students while she fussed over her large complement of patients and searched fruitlessly for something. In one corner, seated in three small chairs, were Scorpius, Rose, and Lyra.

"Dad was sick for a long time," Lyra was saying quietly. "He got diagnosed when I was seven, and he had to go to hospital all the time. At the start of last year he got told he would die in less than a year. He got sicker. He couldn't remember who I was sometimes... Sometimes he didn't recognise Mum. But sometimes he was okay, and happy, so we'd read books together. Dad loves— loved stories about magic. It was on one of his good days that Professor McGonagall arrived with my letter.

"When I realised that she was serious — that magic _was_ real — I told her about Dad. I begged her to make him better. But she—" Lyra sniffed and pressed her hands against her eyes. "She said she'd do everything she could, but magic wasn't good at healing Muggle diseases. She got a Healer to come round and talk to us, and then she and Mum and Dad had a talk alone. I didn't know, but—" She stopped, unable to continue.

"The Healer couldn't help?" Rose asked softly, shocked. Scorpius didn't speak, unsure what to say. He had always assumed that the Statute of Secrecy was the reason that no wizards ever attempted to magically cure Muggle diseases. It had never occurred to him that it was something magic couldn't fix.

Lyra breathed deeply and continued. "There was... Not a cure, just something to stop the pain. If he took it, he'd be as healthy as anyone else until he died, but he'd die much sooner than... Than if he waited for his brain to shut down. He would've lived for three months longer, but he would've forgotten us completely by two. He didn't want that. So he and Mum agreed..." She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying. "They agreed that he would take the potion and we'd all go to Diagon Alley together to get my school things, and we'd all see real magic together, and then— They thought we'd be home sooner, but we were busy exploring the alley and buying my things, so when we were almost done and about to leave, Dad... He collapsed. Everybody started screaming and disappearing, I mean Disapparating, because they thought he'd been cursed, and by the time they realised... He was dead."

Scorpius had known where this story was going, but hearing it from her was different. "You never told me."

"I didn't want anyone to know, not here. If nobody knew here, I didn't have to know either. I didn't have to think about the fact Dad wasn't at home with Mum..." Lyra looked away. "Your parents knew," she added in a whisper. "My mum told them — that's how they knew what the lady in Scribbulus was talking about, when we went to Diagon Alley for Christmas. She saw Dad die and she didn't even realise..."

Rose hugged Lyra's shoulders as she started to cry again, while Scorpius looked on helplessly. He couldn't imagine losing his father.

"I looked all over the castle, but I couldn't find him, Poppy." Professor Kirtle was standing in the doorway, looking anxious. "I sent an owl to Hogsmeade to ask Rosmerta if he's been in, but apparently she hasn't seen him for weeks."

"I can't think where that young man has gone," Madam Pomfrey said from Cassian Firgreen's bedside, unable to hide her concern. "I certainly hope he hasn't gone after our fugitive student all by himself."

Cassian struggled to sit up. "Do you mean Mr Samuels?"

Madam Pomfrey helped the boy steady himself and replied, "Yes, he's missing. You don't have any idea where he might be, Cassian?"

"I..." His eyes widened. "He must be with Merva!"

"You mean he did go chasing after her?" Eva asked.

"He must have. He only came here to look out for her, anyway."

"Pardon me?"

Cassian looked like he was mentally unpicking a tangled mound of shoelaces covered in burrs. "Martin — Mr Samuels — showed up at Mum's funeral in the summer. He said he was an old friend of Mum's — he looked way too young to be a school friend, so I assumed they'd dated at some point. He knew our stepdad was useless and had gone off to Australia or somewhere for a ‘spiritual journey’, so he offered to stay with us for a while. Merva really liked him, and he never bothered me, so we agreed. He must have been older than I thought, though, because he knew all this stuff about Mum from when they were young, how she got caught up in some conspiracy theory about Hogwarts and wasn't going to send us there in case it was true, but then Dad died so she had to so she'd have the time to work, how she used to write articles for some paper about pureblood history and how the Sacred Twenty-Eight was all bullshit... He knew her better than we did. After I passed out at dinner once, he thought I'd gotten some illness Mum had when she was my age, and he offered to take a place at Hogwarts for his Healer training to keep an eye on me. It was always Merva who he was worried about though. He must have gone after her."

Madam Pomfrey looked affronted. "He never mentioned any of this to me. I'm not sure it's appropriate for him to be concerned with the wellbeing of two students over the whole school. I'll have to talk to him about this when he gets back."

"But he won't be back!" Professor Kirtle looked from Cassian to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, don't you see? He's gone _with_ her. Merva's been different all year, but it wasn't just grief driving _her_. Otherwise, why didn't she try to revive her mother?"

"She didn't?" Cassian asked. No one had told him the full story yet. "But she wanted to! That's all either of us wanted."

"That's what you wanted, Cassian," Madam Pomfrey said carefully. "I'm afraid that your sister had other plans. Now, don't strain yourself, I think you should go back to sleep. Leslie, would you mind finding me a sleeping draught? I have to see if Mr Cade has recovered from his injuries."

Cassian looked distressed as the two women went off to their respective tasks, leaving him alone with only the three first years within earshot. "But she..." Suddenly, his face slackened, his eyes widened, and when he spoke again, it was not his normal voice. It was deep and hoarse and painfully clear. " _They are returning. When the first house of Slytherin burns, they will find the weapon they seek._ "

"What do you mean, the _first_ house of Slytherin?" Rose demanded. Scorpius jumped — he hadn't noticed that she and Lyra were listening.

Cassian blinked rapidly and his face was quite normal again. "Pardon, what did you say?" he asked Rose.

"What's the first house of Slytherin?" Rose repeated.

Cassian looked at her blankly. "Dunno. I'm in Hufflepuff."

"Was that a _prophecy?_ " Scorpius asked.

"Well, the hat chooses your house," the older boy answered, misunderstanding, "but I don't know if it knows what you'll be like in the future. Sorry, I can’t tell you anything else about it, I don't take Divination."

Professor Kirtle returned with the sleeping draught and Lyra decided that she was well enough to return to the dormitories. As soon as they got outside, Rose blurted out, "You know what this means?"

"That that Obsession potion makes you say weird stuff?" Lyra asked hopefully. She looked exhausted.

Some things never changed, though: Rose paid no attention whatsoever. "Cassian must be a Seer!" she said excitedly. "And if Mr Samuels came here after he gave a prophecy..."

"Then he must have heard something he wanted to happen was going to, here," Scorpius agreed, then swayed on his feet. "Good to know. Can we talk about it in the morning? It's been a long day."


	22. Chapter 21: Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Emotional manipulation; violence; death; grieving.

It took nearly a week for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to finish with the would-be necromancers and let them return to the school. Darcy had been taken with them, and came back with her memories returned by a remorseful Katherine. She, Katherine, and Lyra were ordered to the Headmistress’s office a few days later, where Professor McGonagall was waiting with an expert on memory from the Department of Mysteries.

“I will ensure that you have not edited the memory in question before you return it to Miss Jones,” the pinch-faced wizard said sharply, eyeing Katherine with a mixture of distaste and reluctant admiration. To remove a memory from another person, rather than suppress it, was supposedly a masterful display of magical precision. “Miss deVerre will witness it also, in order to ensure that her restored memories of that night are complete. I also require that you give us your own memory of the incident to view, to corroborate your version of events.”

Katherine nodded. She was looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. Professor McGonagall led them to a corner of the office where a large stone bowl was tucked away. It was carved with symbols that Lyra thought must be some ancient alphabet, and filled with a swirling silver liquid. The Ministry wizard held out his hand to Katherine, and she handed over a small glass vial with a glowing white substance inside. She then closed her eyes, touched the tip of her wand to her forehead and, with a shudder, pulled a glowing white strand from her head.

“Is that mine?” Lyra asked in a hushed voice, indicating the vial.

Katherine nodded, grimacing.

The Ministry wizard uncorked the vial and poured the contents into the bowl, then Katherine dropped her own memory in after it. “You just need to touch the surface,” the wizard instructed, before leaning over the bowl and suddenly _pouring_ into the liquid.

Lyra tried to step back, but Professor McGonagall laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s perfectly safe,” the headmistress told her, before guiding her hand to the liquid’s surface.

Lyra felt a lurching sensation and flinched away, only to open her eyes and find herself in a corridor of Hogwarts at night. The Ministry wizard was there as well, examining the slightly hazy walls with interest. “This all seems to be in order,” he said mildly, and gestured to Lyra’s left side. “You took the glasses from your dormitory, I assume?”

Lyra turned and her heartbeat hiccuped — she was standing next to _herself_ . The other her was wearing the old spectacles from the Ravenclaw dormitory which let you read — and, by extension, see — in the dark. Thoroughly unnerved, Lyra moved hastily away from her memory self and towards the Ministry wizard. “Why am I _there?_ ” she whispered. “If it’s my memory, why isn’t it from my perspective? Why can I see me?”

The wizard smiled. “Oh, but that’s the beauty of a Pensieve. You can examine your own memories from outside of your mind — of course, you can’t completely rely on your perception of yourself, I think _you_ see yourself as taller than you are—” Lyra was about to object when her memory self passed by and she had to admit that her real self stood a good inch shorter “— but the mind does usually have some idea of what the body looks like. Even in memories of the blind — but let’s not get into that,” the man finished as Darcy, Katherine, and finally McGonagall appeared.

They followed memory-Lyra down the hallway. They heard people talking in the distance — Lyra recognised Professor Shafiq’s voice, she thought the other might have been Flitwick — alarmed, memory-Lyra hastily ducked through the nearest door. Inside, a classroom had been trashed, with books lying everywhere, a cauldron upended in the corner and all the desks clustered together in the middle of the room. Lyra watched herself open the large chest next to the wall, which turned out to be filled with bottles of butterbeer, several cans of Muggle soft drinks, and a dozen bags of crisps. The Ministry wizard raised an eyebrow. “I may have to arrest you for crimes against nutrition,” he told Katherine and Darcy.

Closing the chest, memory-Lyra looked around the room quickly — the window caught her eye. It was the kind which formed an alcove behind the curtain-line, which she climbed into and pulled the heavy curtains closed. To her surprise, Lyra could feel the rough stone against her skin even though she was currently across the room from herself. She rubbed her arms trying to make the feeling go away.

Professor McGonagall noticed. “You’re remembering?”

Lyra nodded.

McGonagall placed a hand on her shoulder. “Brace yourself. What is coming may hurt.”

The memory went dark for a moment as her past self fell asleep. When the room appeared again, they heard voices, closer this time; slowly, six figures faded into view. Fred was sitting on a desk next to Cassian, both puzzling over a book. Tony Cade had discarded his cloak and prefect’s badge next to them and was examining a small stone through a jeweller’s loupe. Behind him, a voice said, “Watch it, Cade,” and Darcy’s past self took the stone from his hand. He turned to object, leaving the loupe floating in midair, but she shushed him. “If you blast it again, it’ll explode. We should focus on trying to repair it. Weasley?”

“We haven’t got the whole spell yet, but it might work. It says it’s ‘an enchantment to...’ — my book says ‘rearrange’, but Cas reckons it can mean ‘repair’ too — ‘to repair the irreplaceable.’”

“Or possibly, ‘that which cannot be copied’,” Cassian added, twisting his hands anxiously. “But that might apply to the stone too, let me double check something...”

Darcy sighed in frustration. “Can’t you two give me a damn spell?”

“Be patient.” It was a command. Merva took the stone from Darcy and placed it in a box. “Translating runes takes time. Keep searching for more information.” She passed books to both Tony and Darcy. Darcy scowled at her, but didn’t argue.

Katherine, who was taking notes from another book, looked up suddenly. “You couldn’t get access to the headmistress’s office, could you?” she asked Darcy. “The old headmaster, Dumbledore, there were rumours that he owned the Stone for a while. If we could get access to his memories, he might have had some insight into how the magic works.”

“And to think I once despaired of ever achieving inter-house cooperation,” Professor McGonagall said dryly.

Lyra wasn’t listening. She was watching her memory-self peering through a crack in the curtains, feeling her lungs begin to burn from how long she had held her breath. Just as Darcy was about to speak, Lyra gasped.

“ _Diffindo! Diffindo!_ ”

Darcy had sent the two spells across the room before anyone else had time to move. Merva drew her wand a second later and yelled, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

For a moment, everything went black, and then abruptly returned to the scene, slightly sharper than before. Lyra had barely had time to feel the sting of the old wounds — in Katherine’s memory, she was a neutral observer once again.

“Shit,” memory-Darcy blurted. “Shit shit shit shit shit!”

Fred and Cassian were pulling Lyra’s unconscious form out of the destroyed curtains. Tony frowned. “Who is it?”

“Lyra.” Katherine looked faintly ill. “She’s one of our first years. _Caesarisano!_ ” Nothing happened. “Damn it, Darcy! _Sanguis repulso._ ” The blood oozed back into Lyra’s wounds, but they didn’t close. “I can keep her from losing blood, but we need to get her to Madam Pomfrey.”

“ _No._ ” It was Merva; she grabbed Katherine’s arm and pulled her around to face her. “She heard us. She saw the stone. You have to obliviate her.”

“I’m not obliviating a first year!”

Merva held her arm tighter; the room seemed to sway around them. Next to her, Lyra noticed the Ministry wizard take a few notes.

“You’re the only one who can do it without hurting her,” Merva told Katherine gently. “Then you can take her back to Ravenclaw tower and she’ll see Madam Pomfrey in the morning.”

Katherine closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Okay. I’ll try removing the last few hours of her memory first, though, it’s safer than obliviation.”

Merva let go of her arm. “Thank you.”

Katherine levitated Lyra up onto a desk and placed her wand on Lyra’s temple. She hesitated for a moment. “Does anybody have an empty bottle?”

Merva fished a corked glass vial out of her robes. “Will this do?”

Katherine nodded and took the vial. Carefully, she pressed the tip of her wand into the skin of Lyra’s forehead and then slowly pulled it away. A gleaming strand of memory followed it. She placed the memory in the vial and sealed it.

“Use a Disillusionment Charm on her,” Merva instructed. “Tony, you can help Kat as far as the common room.” Tony pulled on his cloak again and pinned the Hufflepuff prefect badge in a prominent position. In a low voice, Merva told Katherine, “Don’t raise the alarm in the morning if she doesn't get up. You’ll draw attention to yourself.”

“But…”

The memory changed.

_Eleven-year-old Katherine was hiding behind a tree in the school grounds, crying. A shadow fell across her; a girl with long red hair was standing there._

_“You’re Katherine, aren’t you? We have Potions together. Why are you crying?”_

_Katherine sniffled. “I failed my Transfiguration homework. Everyone says I’m too stupid to be in Ravenclaw.”_

_“I don’t think you’re stupid. Whoever told you that is a shitbrain.”_

_Katherine looked alarmed. “My mum doesn’t let me swear,” she said uneasily._

_Merva sat down beside her. “Neither does mine, but she’s not here.” She grinned and held out a paper bag. “Pepper imp?”_

“Kat? Please say you won’t?”

“I… I won’t.”

Abruptly Lyra found herself back in the headmistress’s office next to the present Darcy and Katherine. McGonagall stepped away from the pensieve, looking troubled. The Ministry wizard was writing furiously, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. He glanced at the three students and said, “Everything seems to be in order. May I keep your memory for study, Miss Tredwell?”

Katherine nodded wordlessly.

The wizard rebottled the two memories and handed one to Lyra. “Drink it.”

With that, Lyra and the two older girls were ushered out of the headmistress’s office. Katherine walked away quickly, avoiding meeting their eyes. Darcy stayed behind with Lyra, who was staring at her captured memory. “It doesn’t taste bad,” Darcy advised her. “Doesn’t taste like anything, really. Faintly minty aftertaste.”

Lyra looked up. “I don’t know if I want it back.”

“Why not?”

“It hurt.”

Darcy coughed awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I don’t…” She stopped, and looked closely at Lyra’s face. “Are you okay?”

She was far too tired to lie. “Not yet.” She met the older girl’s gaze and said firmly, “I will be.”

Darcy looked unconvinced. “When?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

 

* * *

The last term of the school year slipped by quietly. No sign was found of Merva Firgreen or Martin Samuels, but despite his worry Cassian, along with Fred, managed to make what they thought were decent attempts at their OWLs.

Professor McGonagall had not forgotten the amount of suspicious behaviour and general rule-breaking Rose, Scorpius, and Lyra had neglected to tell the teachers about. They spent every Saturday for the rest of the term in detention, which meant either helping an overwhelmed Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing or shelving books under the watchful eyes of Madam Pince. It wasn't awful, except the occasional job scouring bedpans, but it certainly made them rethink keeping Cassian's prophecy to themselves. It was impossible to guess what Professor McGonagall was thinking when they told her, but she did warn them not to tell anyone or Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, might take it into her head to assassinate a rival Seer (or worse, take him under her wing).

With the help of Professor Kirtle and Scorpius's father, the Ministry had replicated and profiled the potion Merva had, it seemed, invented herself — a subtle yet powerful form of mind control, which had a sweet flavour that could only be disguised by a drink like Butterbeer. The only reason both Katherine and Fred had managed to break free of its influence was that it needed to be regularly taken every week, and Merva had neglected to dose them in the Easter holidays and afterwards. This was probably because she was busy brewing another potion, which she'd adapted from an ancient healing draught — the one that had given Godric Gryffindor his second body. They found remnants of it in a bottle left in the Astronomy tower, and both potion and Gryffindor's corpse passed into the hands of the Department of Mysteries, hopefully never to be seen again.

Professor McGonagall had taken charge of the remaining would-be necromancers. She had arranged for Cassian and Anthony, both without permanent guardians, to stay with a retired colleague of hers in Hogsmeade for the holidays over the next few years where, hopefully, they would be happier and keep out of trouble. She had Fred, Katherine, and Darcy to tea every weekend to make sure they were coping — not that she had to worry much about keeping Darcy on the straight and narrow when Slytherin Quidditch Captain Caleb Blackthorn was motherhenning his star Chaser over the whole ordeal. His attitude might have been less sympathetic if they hadn't managed to beat Hufflepuff 180-80 the week after the memorial service, of course.

Slytherin didn't win the Quidditch Cup though, and neither did Ravenclaw; instead, Gryffindor made a surprise comeback in their last match against Ravenclaw, trouncing them 230 to 40. Imogen spent the rest of the weekend in the hospital wing after being knocked off her broom, but that wasn't the biggest news of the match. Just after the game ended Evelyn Harris went running up to Rose's cousin Molly and gave her what Dominique had delicately termed "a victory snog". As she told it, Rose had known Molly was interested in girls, not boys, but to find out she was dating a _Quidditch player?_ That was just bizarre.

Maybe it was to Rose, but Lyra found it far stranger that in the last week of terms when their exam marks were handed out, she discovered that she hadn't failed anything, and had actually done quite well in Charms. Rose and Scorpius had much better grades, of course, and Rose came best of their class in both Transfiguration and Astronomy. (Predictably, Scorpius topped Potions.) But Lyra was too relieved to worry about not being up to someone else's standards, and proudly sent her marks home with her letter to her mother. Isobel was not so pleased — apparently, she would be the first in her family not to come top of every class in her first year, instead managing only to be best in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, and tied with Eleanor for Charms.

Before they had the chance to relax, the school year was over and they were all piling into the Hogwarts Express for the journey home. Lyra, Scorpius, and Rose joined Albus and Elin to look for a free compartment. Eventually they found Fred Weasley sitting alone in a compartment near the back of the train, reading a letter. He looked up when Rose sat next to him.

"May we sit in here?" she asked, a bit too formally. Fred nodded and the rest of them sat down, Albus taking the seat in the far corner so he could put his owl far away from Charlie the cat, who was making his usual array of grumpy noises from within his basket. Lyra put Marple's cage next to Charlie's basket, knowing that the pair were used to each other (and that Marple had a quick eye and a sharp beak for any paws that tried reaching through the bars), and sat next to Rose, who was obviously trying to restrain herself from reading Fred's letter over his shoulder.

Fred noticed this as the train started moving and folded the letter in half so that all they could see was the PS on the back. "Here," he said, affectionately exasperated, and handed Rose the piece of parchment.

Rose's eyes widened as she read. "Fred, that's brilliant!" She dropped the letter on her lap and hugged him tightly. He smiled, a little sheepish, and Rose explained to a puzzled Albus, "Late at night last week, Uncle George saw a Dementor trying to attack one of the shop assistants on their way home. Auntie Angelina says he stopped it with an incorporeal Patronus!"

"Incorporeal?" Albus asked.

"Incorporeal means not solid or fully there," Lyra explained. Albus looked surprised. "What's a Patronus, though?"

"It's... It's a bit complicated," Fred said. "But it's good news."

 _Good news_ . Lyra pretended to be very interested in her Charms textbook to hide her face. There was no good news where she was going. There would be no Dad waiting at the station, or at home, or anywhere ever again. There would be no new prescriptions to fill, no side-effects to prepare for, no ominous doctor's warnings to get a second and third and fourth opinion on. No being read to when she couldn't sleep, and no reading to him when his vision got too fuzzy to make out the words. No laughing through Pratchetts or deciphering Elvish or crying together at the end of the inevitably tragic awardbait novel in which the reader's affection is as fatal to a dog as cyanide is to an unlikeable lord in an Agatha Christie story. No mutual exasperation over Mum's refusal to be emotionally manipulated by fictional persons. (They had all read _Bridge to Teribithia_ together and at the end, which had both Lyra and her dad in tears, her mother had closed the book and casually asked if they had any ideas for dinner.) No going through her homework together and trying to invent scenarios where any sane person would need to buy thirty-four watermelons; no arguing over whether a certain series should be put under _Fantasy_ or _Science Fiction_ because the mages turned out to be aliens in the end; no quiet conversations at the end of the day that made everything all right again. Just a long, vast stretch of not anymores and never agains.

Quietly, Lyra stood up and left the compartment, closing the door on a confused Rose and Scorpius. She wandered down the corridor and found a little washroom off to the side, just before the door to the next carriage, and locked herself in. She sat down and all of a sudden there were tears pouring down her face like her eyes had been linked up to the local water main. She sobbed and gasped and spluttered; her nose ran; her sleeves got soaked as she pressed them against her face. She swore and raged and at one point kicked the wall so hard it echoed — she froze for a moment and then kicked it again out of spite, because so what if someone came looking? What did it matter if they told her not to make a fuss, not to make so much noise? Nothing could stop what she was feeling now.

Healing is an unbearably painful thing. The sting of antiseptic and the shock of a bone being set are symptoms of the fact that healing a wound requires millions of cells to up and realise that the connections between them are gone, that the tissue of their universe has come undone, and to set about plastering over this sudden enormous gap. The way one might put off stitches because one thinks that they will hurt more than the injury itself, Lyra had put off grieving over and over, unable and unwilling to let the gash in her world reknit itself into a scar of where her father had once been. But everything, sooner or later, has a tipping point. Not even magic could unmake her father's death, not really. She knew that now.

Every time she felt like she was finished crying, she carefully untied another memory, another thing that she would miss, and the sobs would take over again. But she kept going, unpiecing every minuscule detail about her life that felt empty and hollow without Dad in it, until it was all undone and she finally ran completely out of tears.

Amongst the wreckage, she had one memory left to think of, and she clung to it tightly.

_I'm always proud of you..._

* * *

"Mum's taking me to get an owl on the weekend," Ellie was saying to Albus as the train sped through London. "Well, it'll be a family owl, but I can write to you over the summer. I was worried I wouldn't be able to, seeing as you two don't have emails."

"I'll ask Mum if you can come stay with us sometime," Albus replied, then added, grinning, "If you won't miss your E-mail too much."

"Mum and Dad said you're welcome any time," Scorpius told Lyra, who smiled faintly. Maybe she could ask her mother if Scorpius could stay with them for a weekend. That would be one way to make home seem less empty.

Scorpius and Rose looked at each other. "I don't think my dad's ready for that," Rose said frankly.

"I don't think mine is either," Scorpius admitted. "I'll write to you."

"Maybe you two will see each other at the Cup," Fred added.

Scorpius blanched. "Oh, Merlin's beard..."

"Scorpius isn't going to the World Cup, Fred," Rose explained to her puzzled cousin. "He's not a Quidditch fan.

"Dad'll want to go, though," Scorpius said gloomily, then brightened. "I can always tell him that I have loads of homework. There's that whole four foot essay on mandrakes for Herbology."

Fred looked at Scorpius's proud smile and said, in a manner very reminiscent of Rose, "You are _weird_."

The train came to a stop at Platform 9 ¾ and the five first years exchanged hugs and promises to owl Quidditch Cup updates (Ellie and Lyra were curious, Scorpius resigned) before leaving the compartment and stumbling out onto the platform. A large group of adults, mostly with red hair, were waiting near the luggage compartments, and Ellie's mother was with them, talking to a dark-haired man who could only be Albus's father. Ellie, Albus, and Rose joined their parents as they collected their trunks, and Scorpius was intercepted by his mother and father on his way towards them. Lyra waved to them and heaved her trunk onto a trolley, perching Marple's cage on top, then headed for the gateway to the Muggle train station.

Her mother was waiting for her just outside. She looked healthier than last year and stood a little straighter. She hugged Lyra around the shoulders, and Lyra hugged her back.

"How are you, sweetheart?" she asked as they walked towards the exit.

"I..." Lyra paused. She was going to tell her mother that she had seen Dad again, but it seemed while she had been hiding from the truth, her mother had been letting go. She decided not to reopen the wound, and said, "I'm good, we have loads of homework for summer though. Did you get my letter about how well I did in Charms? And did I tell you..."

Together, they walked out into the sun.

 


End file.
